


The Darkest Night

by GarGoyl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Eventual Smut, Horror, M/M, Romance, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Forsaken by his family in early childhood and sent off to Europe to become a servant of the Church, Alfred F. Jones has spent his whole life fighting evil and hoping for nothing. Now faced with a dangerous mission, little does he know that a forbidden love will also cross his path, changing his fate forever. Rated mostly for violence and some lemons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

A/N - Hello everyone! (OMG, I should probably google new greetings or something…) This new story is the USUK version of something I've been working on for some time now, but it fits like a glooove! It is very loosely based on _Hellsing Ultimate_ and the movie _The Countess_. Indeed, as you may have guessed, several characters in this story are vampires (but don't expect any sparkling) :)))

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Warnings: This is a story I wrote for my inner demons and may not be for the faint of heart.

_Elizaveta (Erzsebet) Héderváry – Hungary_

* * *

He would have slept if he could. The priest seated in front of him was now talking about the weather – how the sun rarely showed itself this time of year and even throughout the seasons the weather would remain stubbornly gloomy in this countryside – at least that was what he'd heard, and what of the crops? How could people travel and merchants transport their goods when the roads were said to get full of a soft, sticky sort of mud, so deep that one could easily lose a boot in? That was sure to be bad for his already poor health, this insufferable chill that would slip even through the thickest clothing and he could feel it already.

Alfred nodded politely from time to time, even muttering something in acknowledgement of his companion's chatter on the awful conditions of Eastern Europe, but paying no attention. It was cold because it was winter, there was nothing new to it, as for his boots, they were already worn and dirty beyond imagination anyway. He didn't care much about the weather or this country as it was, it was just another mission. When he was very young and he'd left the constricting walls of that small French monastery behind for the first time, Alfred had felt a great deal of excitement indeed, but since then he'd done a lot of travelling and the long hours in a crammed carriage had become more and more tedious. For a nineteen year old, his life had been fuller and more adventurous than of most people his age, but it was hardly a solace for one destined to be thrown around by fate, without a past and without a future, only with sorrow. He hardly remembered the day when, a little boy of five, he'd arrived at the monastery in Provence which was to be his new home, after a very, very long journey by sea. But he was a stranger and a nobody, he didn't fit in with the others and soon, as his intended training progressed, his weapons became his only friends. It made sense in very bitter way, the two pistols and the knife up his sleeve were his only worldly possessions, aside from two changes of clothes and a small silver rosary wrapped around his left wrist – that and his own thoughts on the mission to come, which might very well have been his last.

Indeed, it was very likely in his line of work. Many servants of the Church had perished fighting the bloodthirsty monsters he was hunting and it was – in the back of his mind the American had no doubt about it – the way he would probably meet his end too, maybe even before becoming a full-fledged fighter. And so this journey held no excitement for him, if anything only dread. Half-lidded blue orbs swept wearily over the dark landscape unfolding beyond the carriage window as he was more and more tempted to doze off.

"William?"

The voice of his older companion brought the young man back from the borders of sleep and he nearly winced. "Forgive me, Father, did you say something?" After all these years he still felt a like a cold needle shooting through his insides at hearing _this name_. This name, for it still wasn't his own. William Stone was nobody. _Nobody's son and nobody's father, nobody's husband and nobody's brother,_ so the tale went _._ And he _wasn't_ William _._

"You look tired, William. I am sorry that you couldn't even rest properly after your last assignment, but there was no time," said the priest. "For what it's worth, you could see this as an appreciation of your work so far, the fact that Braginski has chosen you. You know, the bishop really is a special man, with much initiative. And a lot of courage, I might add."

"His choice honors me, of course. I've heard he's a very brave man."

Alfred though it was worth making an effort to please his mentor, Father Bonnefoy. But he had not heard that much about Bishop Braginski, other than that he was known for his stubbornness and resilience. Not so much for successful exploits though, in fact it was remarkable enough he was still alive after doing this for as long as he had and as recklessly as they said he did it. It was a complicated affair, the one they were currently delving into, he was a Catholic, the Russian bishop was an Orthodox and the one they were after was (or rather, had been) a Protestant, but the matter at hand required cooperation.

"You do realise though, this is a very risky pursuit," the older man went on. "Countess Héderváry's family is under the protection of the emperor, who has always dismissed the rumors about them, he has even dismissed the plainly proven facts. Obviously, he would not believe – hardly anyone would believe – the truth about her. His great-grandfather was on the throne in her time, after all."

The dirty-blond boy half-hugged himself, pulling the rough cloak tighter around his body – it was indeed getting colder. He hoped that at least where they were going there would be a warm bed waiting for him, in which to curl up and pass out for a few hours, at least.

"Risky…. Considering the implications, I can only hope that at the end of this we won't hang," Alfred muttered.

The Frenchman only laughed softly. "Ah, no. All I am saying is that nothing upfront can be done, but if we are to lose this confrontation, a much more horrid end awaits us. _She_ will hardly be satisfied just with seeing us hang, rest assured."

Some assurance this was… And his biggest concern – if he were to admit it plainly, but never to Father Bonnefoy – was that Alfred did not trust Bishop Braginski and his methods too much. From what he'd heard, the man was hardly subtle and if somehow they were to survive this mission, he would probably get them in trouble with the imperial authorities. Besides, some crap was better left unstirred, in his opinion. The Church was experienced in hunting down ghouls, but ghouls were mindless beasts driven only by thirst and even if their power was great, they would not use it with skill. A real _vampire_ was something they knew next to nothing about. And that wasn't the only problem, the Héderváry family had a lot of loyal _human_ servants, how were those to be dealt with? Thus, it was plain to him that Bishop Ivan Braginski was most likely stirring some crap much bigger than they could handle.

"I must confess I find the whole story rather baffling," he said after a while."Ghouls and the like usually appear in small, remote villages where people are plagued by all sorts of superstitions and affinities for magic and such. But from what I understood, countess Erzsebet Héderváry was an educated woman, she must have had the finest teachers… And her family was known to be very religious, too. How could such a thing happen?"

"All of a man's learning often fails him when confronted with worldly passions," the priest replied. "After the death of her husband, Elizaveta spent some time in Vienna and found solace in the arms of a man much younger than herself, the heir of a well-know Austrian family. There seemed to be a great love between them, but his parents had other plans. They chose a wife as young as he and even though the affair continued, the countess began to fear that her lover would soon abandon her in favor of his new wife, because she no longer had such freshness that only youth possesses. Somehow, she must have studied the books of necromancers or other such abominable writings and has made the choice to give her soul to the Devil in exchange for youth and beauty. It was no use though – the Austrian ended things with her anyway and the countess returned home, humiliated and chagrined."

The American did his best to stretch his aching legs in the crammed space between the seats, stifling a yawn. "And that was it?"

"No. A few months later the young man and his wife were gruesomely slaughtered in their house in Vienna together with all the servants. _That_ was it. There was no proof that it might have been the countess' doing, but… there's plenty of reason to believe that it was her."

Silence fell afterwards and Alfred was grateful. For some reason this whole intrigue had upset him, this tale from what he would call 'the world of the living'. And maybe it had stirred some old, deep-buried memories inside him as well. At any rate, there was no use dwelling on it, on all the how-s and the why-s, the essential was that Erzsebet Héderváry was now a creature they were supposed to hunt and bring down. _But not tonight, not tonight._

* * *

It was well after midnight when the carriage eventually stopped. Feeling rather numb after the long hours, Alfred moved to open the door and glanced out, grimacing as the cold air stung his nostrils. They were in a pitch dark courtyard, barren and unkempt, in the back of which he could see a large but austere looking parish house – at least that was what he assumed it was. Two torches burned on each side of the double wooden door, which seemed unusually solid and reinforced with iron bars. It looked quite ominous, especially since there was no one in sight.

A man eventually came out through the door - just as the boy was helping his older companion descend – and Alfred stared at him a bit. Said man was quite young himself, a mess of curls shadowing his forehead and his body was lean under the tattered black robe. But his walk was sort of stumbled and darn, he wasn't hurrying at all.

"Please forgive me, I had fallen asleep watching the road. And be welcome, father, brother. I am brother Heracles," the young man said, taking a bow and leaning to kiss Father Bonnefoy's gloved hand. "I am to take care of all the arrangements…"

The priest patted his shoulder lightly, allowing him to take his travel bag. "I hope all is well with Bishop Braginski?"

"Oh yes, thank God. As soon as you're settled, His Holiness will join you for a late dinner."

* * *

Bishop Ivan Braginski was an odd fellow, Alfred thought, eyeing his almost cold stew without appetite. The man was rather young (maybe too young for such a rank?) and had a bulky sort of build, more suited for a different kind of occupation, perhaps something involving hard labor. Perhaps he was a strong, resilient fighter, the American thought, thinking of the heavy hand which had been laid onto his shoulder as a welcome. But in complete contrast to that, Braginski was incredibly soft spoken and appeared very gentle.

"Anyway, there is a new murder occurring almost every week now," the bishop said, pulling Alfred back from his thoughts. "Therefore you see, measures must be taken and this situation dealt with. I daresay it's almost like this land is suffering of plague."

His companion sighed, taking a slow sip of his wine (at least the wine was good here, not too sweet, not too dry and it would help him sleep better). "It is most unfortunate, indeed," the priest agreed. "I was telling William on the way here about the murder in Vienna… how that poor young man and his wife were found slaughtered bestially… it is such a shame…"

"Actually," Ivan pointed leaning back his chair, "Roderich Edelstein's body was never found. They only found some torn, bloodied pieces of clothing which were presumably his and one shoe… but not the body. So it was only _assumed_ he was dead too, da."

Alfred gasped, genuinely surprised at that. "But… do you believe he could be alive, then?" he asked without thinking. Of course Roderich Edelstein could not have been alive after all this time, it had all happened almost a hundred years before. The American inwardly cursed his big mouth, which somehow never failed to embarrass him.

"Well, not alive, surely, but _un_ -dead, da. I have thought about this possibility," Braginski admitted. "It's possible that the countess may have wanted to keep her lover forever by her side. However, that is hardly important. If he has indeed become a Nosferatu, then there can be no salvation for him."

The bishop's sense of practicality was somehow reassuring, Alfred thought. He didn't seem to be interested at all in the whole drama, but rather solely on the outcome of it and he was only counting his potential enemies.

"Forgive me, Your Holiness," Father Bonnefoy suddenly said. "It is very late and I believe we should retire. There will be plenty of time to talk things through in the morning."

The bishop only nodded with a light smile and they were afterwards led to their rooms by a very sleepy looking Heracles. The American briefly looked around his – it was small and austere, pretty much like all the rooms he'd been sleeping in for as long as he could remember – but it was clean and neat so he reckoned it would do. It was cold enough for the boy to throw the cloak over his nightshirt and wrap himself as tightly as possible in the rough blanket, but as soon as his cheek touched the cool pillow, he was fast asleep.

_**To be continued** _


	2. Chapter 2

Braginski's headquarters turned out to be more than an austere parish house, as it had seemed at first. There were even a training room, equipped with all sorts of weapons, a vast library with countless books on the subject of the occult – to such extent that Alfred wondered if a priest should have really delved in such dept in this sinister domain – and (much to his relief) other recruits as well. He'd feared that the Russian bishop had placed his hopes, whatever those hopes were, on him and him alone. After all, despite his relative experience on the matter, he was still in training. Thus, the presence of the other men was reassuring, especially now that Father Bonnefoy had gone back after only a short visit, leaving him all alone among strangers.

As they walked down the halls on their little introductory tour, Ivan's heavy hand never leaving his shoulder, the American genuinely wondered if the other man's confidence in the anticipated success of his mission wasn't rather overstated. If Father Bonnefoy's account had been exact, then they were clearly up against something almost impossible to deal with. _Something others have apparently tried to deal with before and failed miserably…_

"Your Holiness-" the blond boy began, struggling on how to phrase his ardent question.

"Ah, no! 'Father' will suffice, da? I've always believed that formalisms only get in the way."

The American nodded shyly. "Yes… Father. I couldn't help wondering…. I mean I've heard- No, actually Father Bonnefoy has heard that others have attempted to… do something about the matter at hand, but the only outcome was failure…"

"Those are light words to put it, I believe," Braginski replied with a soft snort. "The outcome wasn't failure, the outcome was that they all ended up dead. But my child, as mad as that attempt may seem to you, perhaps even foolish in the circumstances, I assure you that it was by no means unjustified, da."

Saying that, the bishop opened the back door and revealed a small gravel path, which crossed the backyard and led to a sort of chapel stuck to the high brick wall which surrounded the parish house. The small building, made of roughly cut, blackened blocks of stone covered in reddish moss looked quite foreboding. Ivan headed in its direction with determined footsteps, the American following reluctantly and half-guessing what his new superior wanted to show him.

"We use it occasionally as a morgue, to study some of the corpses and find out…well what we can, at least maybe who they were. Not all of the discovered victims were from around here. And since the last girl was found only yesterday morning, the body is still here and I thought you should take a look, da?"

It wasn't a question really and Alfred stiffened. He had clearly brought this upon himself by doubting their purpose, no matter how subtly or politely phrased. And now he was to see _a body,_ just as he'd feared. He'd seen plenty of corpses until now, but it was ever an unsettling sight. The American drew one last breath of fresh air before Braginski led him inside and he was confronted with a simple wooden table on which a heap of something lay hidden under a stained piece of cloth. The stale air was filled with a sickly scent of decay and Alfred's hand instinctively flew to his mouth as he stared in anticipating horror. The bishop however appeared entirely unfazed as he lifted the cloth.

"It isn't much of a body left, da… I think she couldn't have been more than fourteen, maybe fifteen… Before they used to bury them, but now with the frozen ground and all, the wolves were left to take care of it."

"And… all the victims were girls?" the younger asked randomly, aware that his back was now stuck to the cold wall as he tried to look anywhere but at the gruesome looking remains.

Braginski seemed oblivious to his distress. Or maybe he was doing this on purpose? Had the others ended up like this as well? Would _they_ too end up like this, half devoured by beasts, a miserable heap of torn, putrid flesh?

"At first, yes. The girls' blood was crucial to the rejuvenating rituals, as I have later discovered from reading more widely on the subject, but later on – especially after some fuss was made – male victims appeared as well, da. Nowadays there are all kinds, I'm afraid." Much to the boy's relief, the bishop finally replaced the cloth on the body, sparing him of the view at last.

"Earlier, you mentioned the others…" Braginski added, stepping to replenish the oil in the small lamp burning discreetly in a corner. "Yes, there was a pastor who was first alerted by the increasing number of dead servants from the castle and later by the corpses turning out in the woods, but he and his merry friends were uninspired enough to write to the authorities in Vienna. First they were ignored, then their letters were intercepted by the countess' men. The pastor was killed by a supposed robber in his own bed, then the others followed, one by one. The last of them – a rich merchant – gathered up some armed men and even attempted to assault the Héderváry castle. You can easily imagine how that one ended. Now come…"

Alfred was grateful for the fresh, albeit very cold air and for the pale rays of afternoon sun, once they were outside again, but it hardly made him feel any better. If anything, now his mortification was absolute. _Armed men?_ Well the bishop's small group didn't even qualify as 'armed men', let alone anything more, so what on earth was this man hoping they could do?

"I know, "Braginski said, guessing the unspoken question. "You are now asking yourself what it is that we have and they didn't, da? Well they did not have a plan to begin with and neither do I, as of yet. But their purpose was wrong to begin with - they sought to defeat the Héderváry family as a whole, to turn everything upside down, start a riot if needed, while I have no such intention. I have no wish to set fire to no home or spill the blood of my fellow men, however corrupt their ways may have become. I only want to kill Erzsebet and her Austrian – if he has indeed been turned – because they are already dead and the dead should not rise from their graves to rob innocents of their lives. And yes, I do have something they did not have."

* * *

The young apprentice had no desire to be shown what else Bishop Ivan Braginski had in store, aside from what he'd seen already. Most likely something equally sinister, as he was now led down the narrow and worn stairs of the basement. The Russian had only brought a small candle to light the way as they descended, forcing his newest recruit to feel the damp walls with his hands almost blindly as he followed. At the bottom of the stairs there was a solid door with a heavy looking key resting in the lock, but which Ivan maneuvered with unexpected ease. To his further surprise, a warm glow of candles came from beyond the door.

"Now, there's nothing to fear, William. Everything is under control, I shall explain it shortly," Ivan reassured, motioning for his companion to step inside.

Unfortunately, the American found no comfort in the bishop's words as he let his gaze wander around the room. It was bare, rough unwelcoming stone all around, no furniture and no windows, only a medium-sized chest in one corner, under one of the large candles fixed on the wall and… a coffin.

"No! No!" Alfred cried before he could help it, drawing backwards, his eyes still inescapably glued to the dark, polished wood which reflected the dancing flames almost like a mirror. He really shouldn't have shown such weakness, he wasn't a scared little boy, but still…could it be? Maybe his imagination was too wild, maybe-

"It's all right, he sleeps during the day. And I have taken precautions, there's absolutely no danger," Braginski said softly, confirming his most bewildering suspicions. The priest kneeled in front of the coffin and motioned for him to come closer. "I assure you, there's nothing horrible inside, quite on the contrary, da."

But the blond boy cared not about such details, as he stepped forward on shaky legs. The thought that the bishop kept _a vampire_ in his house was simply unthinkable. _How is that even possible? And even if it is, has he gone completely mad?_ If that was the Russian's secret, he had clearly not wanted to know it or be forced to keep it, for that matter. Was Braginski studying the creature? Was that even a sane explanation? Nobody had ever captured a ghoul for example to study it, it was absurd!

Ivan lifted the coffin lid slowly, carefully, as if not meaning to disturb, revealing a boy around Alfred's age sleeping peacefully inside. The American was confused, a scowl creeping onto his face as he stared. This wasn't some sort of joke, was it? Ghouls looked decrepit, even rotten, repulsive looking, their flesh of grayish coloring and covered with parchment-like skin. He was seeing no such thing now. The boy he was observing looked perfectly human, although some oddity seemed to reside in that very perfection. His skin, which was maybe a bit too pale, was flawless and every feature of his rather childish face beautifully chiseled, his light blond hair looked soft and silky. And vampires were supposed to be as dead in daytime, yet the boy was clearly sleeping – his head was tilted to the side while his arms rested casually onto the blanket which covered him up to his chest. He did not seem to be breathing though, but that was noticeable only at a very close inspection.

"Not what you would have expected after seeing ghouls and the like, da?" Braginski said suddenly, interrupting his observations. "Indeed, _real vampires_ are not as obvious as you might think and by no means monstrous. They look like everyone else, if anything they are more beautiful than everyone else. The perfect predators. Look at him, he's rather dainty, da? But make no mistake," the Russian explained, using his thumb to lift the boy's upper lip to reveal a very sharp canine. But even that was different from what Alfred had expected – the ghouls had large, wolfish fangs made to rip and tear, while the vampire's were smaller and delicate, like a cat's.

"A-are you sure he won't wake up?"

"No, they sleep very deeply during the day and besides, like I was saying, I've taken precautions. We've bound him with some spells to ensure his obedience, but before that we have used silver needles to significantly weaken his power." While he explained, Ivan gently picked up the boy's wrist and pulled up his sleeve. The American saw a pin headed needle stuck into the pale flesh right into the inside of the wrist and it turned out there were a lot of them, stuck into his body to drain his energy and hinder movement.

"But… don't they hurt him?"

Alfred didn't know where that question had sprung – why on earth would he care about that? The vampire was a monster after all, his very existence was an abomination. But observing the sleeping form, it was somewhat hard to think of him – no, to think of _it_ that way.

"Of course they hurt him, although by now I think he may have gotten used to them. They do not hinder him that much after all, but we needed to put them in, he'd be too powerful otherwise. Even if he obeys me fully, I cannot take any risks, my men need to feel safe with him around."

" _W-what?_ " Alfred was dumbstruck. Was he hearing things? Bishop Braginski apparently allowed his 'pet' vampire to wander around the house! What else, he wondered in utter horror as the Russian gently ushered him out of the room, explaining that the American would meet his 'protégé' that very night, after dinner.

* * *

In the light of the events from earlier, dinner was a dismal affair for poor Alfred. This time he sat with the rest of the brothers in a sort of dining hall, beside Heracles. The Greek was really a laid back sort of fellow and chatted away about all sorts of things, but the blond could not bring himself to pay any attention and barely managed to put anything in his mouth, plagued as he was by the story Braginski had told him earlier.

Apparently the countess Héderváry was not the only vampire in the area, there had been another – a British lord who had mysteriously inherited land in these parts, a man renowned for his cruelty and viciousness. So black his heart had been that he'd turned his own orphan nephew, forsaking his poor innocent soul. Ivan had succeeded to discover the lord and his ward's resting place and captured them both. The beastly one they had slain without delay, but they had kept the boy, who happened to be surprisingly meek and docile. But why exactly had Ivan Braginski kept the boy _alive_ , so to speak, was something he had yet to find out.

The idea scared Alfred to no end, even if he would not admit it. And thus he asked no questions, keeping his thoughts to himself. Was this as safe as Braginski had assured him? Would he even be safe in his bed at night? The American knew nothing of magic and binding spells (even the idea of the bishop using spells to make sure his 'pet' obeyed him couldn't have been any more 'unorthodox' and suspicious) and had no trust in them. Just where on earth had Father Bonnefoy delivered him?

Eventually the dinner was over and, after hastily downing two glasses of wine almost on an empty stomach, the apprentice stood from the table and said goodnight to Heracles and the brothers before heading to the library. Much to his chagrin, the wine had only managed to make him somewhat dizzy, but gave him no courage whatsoever.

Once in front of the small oak door, Alfred drew a deep breath and briefly smoothed non-existing creases on his black clothing before knocking softly three times. _Everything's going to be fine. Braginski will be there the whole time, he won't leave me alone, no he won't, he won't. Right!_

"Come in!"

The boy's stomach settled upon hearing the already familiar voice of the bishop and he pressed the knob with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Ah, William, you came," the Russian said, and Alfred though he caught a hint of hidden amusement in his tone. "Glad you joined us. Like I promised, it's time for you to meet Arthur," he added, motioning with his head to an armchair placed near the window.

_Promised? Is that supposed to be some sort of favor he's doing me?_

"Well then," the bishop stated, weighting a tome he'd just picked from a shelf, "I'll leave you two to get acquainted…"


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred froze as the door was closed behind him, his hands balling into fists at his sides and nails digging desperately into the heels of his palms. _' I'll leave you two to get acquainted'? Is he mad, leaving me alone with the creature?!_ _Why would I want to- No! I know what this is, it's a test! Yes, Braginski is testing me, he must be testing me!_

The apprentice took a deep breath - having now found some sort of a logical explanation for the bishop's behavior – and willed his panic-blocked muscles to move. His gaze trailed warily around the large, candle-lit room as he advanced slowly, seeing no one yet. Eventually he spotted two armchairs in the back of the library, one of them empty and the other one facing the window. The tall backrest completely concealed whoever might have sat in it, therefore the American guessed the vampire must have been there.

At last the blond reached the empty armchair and plopped on the hard seat as if after a great effort. It took another few deep breaths before Alfred gathered the courage to look up at the other boy – who, as he had guessed, was sitting nearby. It was a bit ridiculous how curious and even shy he was, he'd seen the vampire already, but… _Not like this, though._ Arthur – if the American had gotten his name right – had an incredibly delicate frame and a very innocent, childish appearance, as he sat there reading, long golden bangs shadowing his forehead and his eyes. He wore only a light white shirt, black slacks and a pair of worn boots, but he probably wasn't bothered by the cold, Alfred thought, shivering a bit in his black woolen robes. Darn, the library was chilly and no wonder - there was no fireplace.

Slender fingers rested on the thick covers of the book, closing it slowly as the boy too looked up. The vampire shook a stray strand of hair off his brow as he finally took in the newcomer with large eyes which had the color of the first leaves of spring. Maybe it was Alfred's imagination, but he seemed slightly nervous.

"So… apparently you're _the one_ ," the boy said in a soft voice laced with a strong British accent, smiling lightly. "They say you are nothing short of extraordinary."

Rudely pulled from his initial awe, Alfred blinked in irritation. Bishop Braginski must have told his precious pet vampire God-knew-what about him and now the boy was clearly mocking him. _Damn!_ Of course, he couldn't have cared any less what the vampire thought about him, but the fear of the bishop's unrealistic expectations of him gripped him once more.

"My name is William Stone and I am just an apprentice fighter, that's all." he replied dryly, leaning back in the armchair and crossing his arms.

"Your name is Alfred F. Jones and you are the son of a nobleman, actually," Arthur stated seriously, pulling his knees to his chest. A shadow of amusement crossed his face for the briefest moment – most likely upon witnessing the other's expression of un-dissimulated horror. "But don't worry, I'll keep that to myself."

' _How do you know'? 'That's not true'? Should I even try to say any of that? No, it's pointless, he just knows. My God, he_ knows _! What else does he know, just by looking at me?_ The other blond shook his head, struggling to breathe through a new wave of panic. No, no, he couldn't show his fear, he couldn't allow himself to appear weak, this was what the test was about, wasn't it? Better to pretend he did not care about his secret being discovered. After all, it wasn't as if he'd done anything wrong himself.

"I _was_ all that, until it was decided that I can't be anymore. So now I am only who and what I just told you," the American said, licking his dry lips and assuming a stern countenance. "But still, you can't tell anyone." he added as neutrally as he could muster.

The vampire smiled gently, careful not to show any teeth. "Don't worry, _William_. I promise to take it to my coffin."

Alfred sighed, mentally dismissing the irony and unable to help wondering whether Bishop Braginski had expressly asked his pet to test his patience. Perhaps he even knew about the boy's ability to… read minds, or whatever it was he was doing. Could he trust him to keep his secret from the bishop? Highly unlikely, but maybe the Russian would not find any interest in the subject and keep his mouth shut about it. He could only hope that. But anyway, now was not the time to worry about this.

"Well, isn't this the point where you tell me who _you_ are in turn?"

"Arthur."

"Just Arthur?"

"Yes. Do I scare you?" the vampire asked simply, his fingers rising to play with the small green gem adorning his right earlobe.

 _Well, that's very forward…_ "No, you don't," the American replied, willing himself to relax and sunk even deeper in the armchair. He must have given off that vibe, Alfred though, because he avoided looking straight into the other boy's eyes. But it wasn't because he was scared, Arthur couldn't have looked any farther from scary. On the contrary, like Braginski had put it – he was beautiful. _No, actually he is… breathtaking._ Of course, a most absurd thought to dwell on.

"Does Father Braginski scare you, then?" Arthur pressed, thankfully distracting him from previous reflections. He snorted softly.

"I am not scared of anything, Arthur. But I have to say that Father Braginski's plans… sort of concern me," he admitted, letting his gaze trail into the darkness beyond the window. "Of course, I was told of his extensive experience and… perhaps I am biased by my very ignorance in the matter, but I still think he's trying to… um…"

"To make a whip out of shit," the vampire stated neutrally, making Alfred almost flinch at the sudden vulgarity of the words. He had to inwardly admit though – they happened to be quite fitting.

" _Excuse me_?"

Arthur chewed a bit on his bottom lip, for the first time showing a perfectly white and very sharp fang. "It's an expression extensively used by the Valahs around here. It means trying to accomplish something with inappropriate or insufficient means."

"I guessed that, but I wouldn't put it that way," the other blond said bluntly."Father Braginski is my superior, a well-reputed man and I respect him. He may have too much faith in my skills though, that's all." _That and he's got no plan whatsoever…_

"And to think that nobody even knows how Erzsebet looks like," Arthur stated, fingers drumming lightly onto the covers of the book now abandoned on the armrest. "I suppose it must be difficult to hunt someone you don't know…"

Alfred had thought his nails would be black and sharp, like the ghouls'. They weren't. Instead they were short, had a pleasant ivory shade and appeared to be groomed to perfection. The American scowled, inwardly annoyed that his observations on the 'creature's' appearance were once more distracting him from the subject.

"What do you mean? Not even you? Father Braginski told me you lived in the same period as she did. You must have seen her, at least from afar!" Alfred wondered - was Arthur by any chance protecting the countess? Could it have been a vampire thing, to protect another from its kind? Or maybe he had known her and he had been fond of her? She was said to have been a lovely woman… Or maybe he just had no intention to help his captor…indeed, why would he do anything to help the man who'd stuck silver needles in his body? But then again, the bishop could easily force him into obedience with his spells, couldn't he? Not that Alfred understood anything on how the Russian's spells really worked...

"She never visited my uncle's court and my uncle wouldn't go anywhere on principle, so no, I have never seen her. Besides, while her husband was alive she barely ever left the castle - he was horribly and notoriously jealous – and after his death she spent most of her time in Vienna… So no, I don't know Erzsebet, but I've seen Ana Darvulia, her personal witch. _She_ used to visit my uncle."

The young apprentice felt very cold all the sudden. The countess had a _personal witch_? What in God's name was wrong with this land, with these people?! Bishop Braginski had never mentioned anything about that and his pet vampire spoke of it as if it was nothing out of the ordinary! Suddenly everything sounded like a bit too much for him, far weirder than anything he'd ever been confronted with. Maybe he should write a letter to Father Bonnefoy and ask him… ask him what? His mentor would be disappointed if he asked to be withdrawn from this assignment and besides, by the time the letter arrived to the destination it might already be too late. A weary hand rose to rub his forehead as he pondered on things, oblivious to the fact that the vampire was observing him.

"I must say - I really liked Darvulia back then and I really thought it was a pity that she had no interest for any man," the other boy said thoughtfully, interrupting his musings. "And I didn't think much about her witchcraft either…I certainly never imagined what she would end up doing."

Maybe he should have asked - for the facts' sake at least - what it had been that the woman named Darvulia had ended up doing, but there he was again – talking about it as if it were the most natural thing in the world! For some reason, the American found the whole thing, the whole _carelessness_ which he couldn't help noticing, incredibly irritating.

"You know, earlier today I was taken to the chapel to see a corpse, or what was left of it anyway, while all Father Braginski had to say about it was something about the ground being frozen and…" the American burst out, shook his head in annoyance, "and I don't know, he was so very calm about it, like he didn't care at all that _someone died_! That girl, that innocent, young girl _died_! Most likely in a gruesome way! And there he was telling me about frozen ground and here you are, telling me some accursed fairytale about a pretty witch! Well I don't think this is a fairytale, I don't think this is a joke!"

The vampire grimaced. "Well, I'll have you know that somewhere in the course of events I ended up dead, so if _it is_ a joke, it's a really bad one. And it's no fairytale either, I was simply told that you should know the facts. And Father Braginski, as much as I… well, don't think that much of him, he won't let himself driven up the wall by just any detail, he is here to solve a problem and is focusing on that."

"Oh yeah?! Well I think we're only here for the challenge, to succeed where everyone else has failed and _precisely_ _because_ everyone else has failed!"

Letting out a rather loud breath, Alfred slumped back in the armchair, from which he had half-risen during his hearty speech, cursing his lack of control and his big mouth as he buried his face in his palms. Did he really have to say what he thought like that, out loud? Now there was no doubt that the vampire would report everything to his master, every single word of his would reach the Russian's ears. And then there would probably be consequences... When he looked up again, the apprentice saw a light smirk on Arthur's lips, as if the vampire had 'smelled' a challenge of his own.

"And why are you here, _Jones_? Is it not for your own score? After all, you already are a reputed ghoul hunter yourself. And I though you respected Father Braginski…"

"I do respect his achievements, but not his apparent purposes so far. And you should stop calling me that," Alfred grumbled ill-humoredly, crossing his arms defensively and facing the window. He was tired, this evening, no this day had been too long. He really needed to sleep. Just sink his head in the pillow and drift into unconsciousness, away from all worrisome thoughts.

The other boy sighed, stretching his legs. "I assure you, his purpose is just. A just cause for a fiery, passionate man like yourself – I can see why he has put so much hope in you. But I hardly advise you to express your views as openly as you did now in his presence. After all _Jones_ , you don't know what he did before becoming a priest, so perhaps you should try not to get on his nerves..."

 _What he did before becoming a priest?_ Well, whatever it was, the American did not want to know. Bishop Ivan Braginski did look like someone you'd have expected to encounter in a tavern brawl rather than in a church and maybe he'd done some wild things in his youth, (things which the vampire must have dug out from the dark recesses of his mind) but it didn't mean anything. Or maybe everything was a lie, just another attempt to frighten him.

Excusing himself as coldly as he could, he stood up from his seat and left the room without another word.

* * *

Closing the door behind him and carefully spinning the key in the lock, Alfred eventually sighed in relief, finding the quiet of his small room incredibly soothing. Only now did he realize he'd been on edge the entire time, his muscles tense and his nerves strained to the point he now felt utterly exhausted. But had he at least passed the bishop's test? By the look of things, it all depended on the vampire and he could tell that Arthur was trouble. There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes that clearly spelled that – he had looked like an easy prey and now the bishop's pet would take any opportunity to torment him. _Darn!_

He changed quickly and slipped under the covers, curling up in a tight ball to warm himself up.

" _Go to sleep, Alfred F. Jones. You'll have the chance to prove yourself tomorrow,"_ a soft voice resounded in his head, just as his heavy eyelids finally closed.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a dark morning, with weak pale light filtering through the windows and giving the austere parish house an even gloomier air than usual. The sky outside looked laden with thick grey clouds, foretelling a bleak winter day. Alfred had slept badly, tormented by all sorts of troublesome thoughts and waking up several times during the night, startled by the violent storm which had whipped mercilessly against the windows, hailstone rapping on the glass and wild wind shaking the sturdy wooden frame.

At least the breakfast had been somehow more animated than usual. For once not in his regular sleepy state, Brother Heracles was quite excited about today's practice and talked for nearly an hour, barely putting anything in his mouth. Since they were confined indoors due to the bad weather anyway and momentarily without a plan of action, Bishop Braginski had decided they should at least spend this time training. Despite their meek appearance, all the brothers were adept fighters - the American had been told – and their leader thought they should be in shape at all times.

Alfred wiped his sweaty palms off his simple black clothing as he headed towards the training room. So this was what the vampire had meant about proving himself, apparently. _The vampire…_ The previous night's encounter had shaken him somewhat and he'd found rather unsettling the thought that Arthur could read his mind and even speak in his head. If Bishop Braginski indeed controlled the boy it clearly meant that he had a powerful weapon on his hands, but who was he really putting it to use against? Did the Russian use Arthur to read the minds of his other men as well, keep them in check at all times? No, while part of it may have been true, he could not let himself be 'driven up the wall' with such thoughts!

And then there had been the talk of Darvulia, Erzsebet's _private witch_. But then again, Arthur had not mentioned her also being a vampire, so she must have been dead by now, wasn't she? But then why the mention of her? Just for the sake of testing or scaring him? Or maybe she had done something important, something the boy had wanted to tell him, but then Alfred had lost his temper and that had been it. Either way, it was a lot for him to wrap his mind about and in such a short time, too.

* * *

All the other brothers were already there and it turned out that with all the useless fidgeting with changing his usual robes with more movement friendly clothes while thinking of a million of other things he'd run late. And now all eyes were suddenly on him, some curious, others expectant but overall Alfred felt rather uncomfortable. He had never liked to be stared at.

Bishop Ivan Braginski was for once out of his formal robes, instead wearing a simple white shirt partially open at the front, black trousers and some heavy boots. Under the pristine fabric, his broad shoulders and muscular arms stuck out even more. _'You don't know what he did before becoming a priest, so perhaps you should try not to get on his nerves…'_ Indeed, seeing the solid Russian now, Alfred had no choice but to mentally agree to what the vampire had said. The American was for the briefest moment under the impression that there was an amused (or maybe ironic?) smile playing on Braginski's lips and he flinched. _Maybe I did fail his test or God-knows what the creature has told him and now... now what?!_ But after the fleeting smile and a discreet gesture for him to join the rest of the recruits, the bishop ignored him, beginning to explain what they were supposed to focus on when confronted with the creatures they were meant to hunt.

"Ghouls are very strong and resilient beasts, da, but they are notoriously slow, at least as far as an experienced fighter is concerned. That's why, when dealing with these creatures, speed is of the essence. Strike fast, hard and quickly move away, out of their reach," the Russian explained."But also, bear in mind that in this mission we might have to face the countess' armed, well-trained servants as well, although I hope it doesn't happen, da."

He walked towards the back of the room where, sunken in semi-obscurity, there was a wall-high panel filled with all sorts of weapons. The sharp blades gleamed wickedly in the dark, adding to the ominous atmosphere. Alfred hadn't spotted any practice straw dummy anywhere and worriedly wondered if they were going to use them against each other. But Ivan Braginski seemed oblivious to this little detail as he continued to explain, with his usual carelessness which was more and more bothersome, as he picked several of the dangerous items and handed them to a few of the brothers. However, most of them got some simple wooden canes. And then the bishop made a calling gesture, motioning Alfred to come forth.

"It is also important to realize that in most situations you may be in the position to confront several opponents in the same time." Braginski snapped his fingers and in a matter of seconds Heracles and five other brothers surrounded the American. Three of them were armed with long, thick canes, but the other three had short swords and axes.

"And now that Father Bonnefoy's _best apprentice_ William Stone is here with us, maybe he can show us some useful tricks. So don't hold back, da?"

It may have been just another fleeting impression, but the blond thought he'd caught a clear hint of irony this time in his superior's words. He'd known it! The darned vampire had certainly told Braginski about his little attitude fit and now he was being taught a lesson, no doubt. Maybe the bishop would go as far as to let his men give him a good beating, if he proved unable to keep them at bay. He took a deep breath - Braginski had advised them not to hold back, so that went for him as well. He would just have to focus like in any other mission and like with handling any other enemy.

Alfred had no other weapon but one cane, but in the end weapons weren't everything. Well, actually there was the small dagger he always carried inside his sleeve for emergencies, but he would not draw that against the brothers. Heracles and the others had admitted not having fought ghouls before, so that was possibly an advantage. He smiled lightly, making an inviting gesture as the men closed in on him, ready to strike.

The six brothers lunged forward, almost in the same time, brandishing whatever they were armed with, but the young apprentice dodged their first round of attack smoothly and gracefully. Then, a well placed kick broke Heracles' cane, another sent some other opponent flying, while a precisely aimed punch sent one of the brothers tumbling down onto the floor and dropping his weapons. Swiftly, he disarmed another and now with two canes it was even easier to defend himself. However, Braginski's recruits had some clear skills of their own and if anything they were resilient and relentless. There were already six of them continuously attacking and Braginski motioned for two more to join it. Now their strategy was clear – they were going to go on like this until he got tired and then 'finish' him.

"I know what you must all be thinking, da," the Russian said suddenly, "that ghouls would not gang up on their prey like that, that their dead brains are too thick to come up with even the simplest of strategies, but we may come across them in large numbers. They are an efficient weapon and unlike living servants they don't have to be armed, fed, clothed or paid. But the human servants of Erzsebet are as real as the pits of hell and – trust me – they will fight for her tooth and nail if they have to."

Unexpectedly, the little speech distracted his attackers and Alfred took advantage of their lack of focus to bring them down one by one. To his surprise, Heracles gave up last. Drawing his breath, the blond looked up at the bishop, anxious to assess the man's reaction. Ivan Braginski nodded and smiled benevolently at him, allowing the American to almost relax. _Almost_.

The tall, blond Russian sighed, stepping forward and crossing his arms thoughtfully. "It is important though to note that countess Héderváry (and possibly her Austrian too) are neither ghouls nor anything like their human servants. Vampires are _a different thing altogether_. " he stated. "Ghouls are ghouls, we can handle them. But first and foremost we are here to hunt and destroy _her_. Without her, the ghouls will perish and the servants will scatter. Without her, all this nightmare will be over."

Braginski paused, examining the faces of his men, as if trying to gauge their determination in the matter and worthiness when it came to the task. _Funny he should say that though, when he finds himself without a plan..._

"However, like I have told you before, trying to barge in mindlessly like a battering ram will not get us anywhere. Others have tried that and you know only too well what became of them, da. I will not have crows feed on our bones if I can help it and the only way is to outsmart this wretched woman one way or another. How? I'm afraid I still have that to figure out, but until then I think it would be useful if you were at least able to defend yourselves."

The bishop sighed again, walking up to the American and his heavy hand rested on the boy's shoulder. "Thus, you should know what you're up against."

As if on cue, the wooden door opened slowly, with a loud creak and Alfred saw the pale blond boy from the previous night poking his head in, throwing a glance around the room. Then the emerald-coloured eyes rested on him and the bishop curiously. The American inwardly tsked and rolled his eyes – had the obnoxious little vampire come to see whether he'd managed to get him in trouble with the bishop? And wasn't he supposed to be asleep during the day? He narrowed his eyes, but to his surprise Arthur instantly dropped his gaze to the floor, shyly.

" _You think I don't know what you're up to?_ " Alfred thought, although he didn't know if the vampire would hear him.

" _No, you don't."_

The reply was unexpectedly blunt and the other boy didn't look at him.

However, Braginski seemed oblivious to that particular exchange, instead clapping his hands conclusively. "Right! William, you've done very well so far, I am impressed, da. But you and the others must see the real thing as well. Do you think you are up to this?"

The American ran a hand through his hair, now damp with sweat. So _that_ was what Arthur had meant... He searched both his superior's and his pet's faces for any sign of smugness, but found none. The bishop simply looked calm and relaxed, with no obvious emotion, while Arthur was pulling the shy act again (because he was sure now that it was an act), staring awkwardly at his boots.

"Very well. When you're ready," the American said, weighing his canes in his hands impatiently.

The Russian walked up to his pet and patted his shoulder gently, looking back and nodding. "He's ready. Come at him."

Alfred scowled – it was clearly a challenge. _'And why are you here, Jones? Is it not for your own score?'_ Were they questioning _his_ real purpose, whether he was here just to prove himself and seek advancement? And if so, how was he supposed to act? Well, it was a bit late now though to be second-guessing himself, since he'd rushed in and already accepted. And on top of it all the damned Englishman just stood there, with his arms crossed.

_Well, here goes nothing..._

Alfred lunged forward as fast as he could - hoping to take his opponent by surprise – and swung the cane, only to hit nothing but thin air.

" _Don't think I'll make this easy for you."_

He turned sharply, surprisingly avoiding to be grabbed by the collar by nimble fingers and once more attempted to strike. This time Arthur captured his right arm in a grip so tight and crushing that the American feared he'll hear his wrist snap any moment now. Not willing to let that happen to his other hand as well, Alfred hit him as hard as he could, but predictably it was no good. The other boy didn't even budge.

But then the vampire suddenly released his wrist, hand going straight for his throat and the very next moment the taller blond found himself pinned to the wall, feet dangling above the ground as he struggled for breath. The bishop was watching the scene in his usual mood, observant but not seeming willing to intervene and restrain his little beast anytime soon. The cane had rolled down on the floor and panic seized Alfred as he fruitlessly tried to free himself from the creature's grip with bare hands.

It was his luck that from the moment the idea struck him, he didn't think too much before putting it into application. He shook his left hand, grasping the thin silver rosary ended with a cross and and then pressing it forcefully into the vampire's hand.

The smell of burned flesh instantly reached his nostrils and Arthur hissed and dropped him, withdrawing his hand with a pained grimace. And then everything happened in the blink of an eye, Alfred – barely thinking and driven by his own horror - pulled out the small dagger and thrust it into the vampire's stomach to the hilt.


	5. Chapter 5

The bishop was examining a thick tome lying open on his desk, flipping thoughtfully through the pages and muttering to himself every now and then. Alfred would have wished for the man to say something, anything, even a nasty scolding would have been preferable to this tension-filled silence. He'd been asked by Braginski to come in the library again, after dinner, so that they could discuss something in private. But now here he sat, perched on a hard, uncomfortable chair in front of the man's desk and had been enduring this tormenting uncertainty for the last half an hour at least. The American fidgeted, staring down at his hands.

"So, William… let's talk, da?"

The dirty-blond boy looked up startled, not expecting the sudden words after the other had ignored him for so long. But the Russian's purple gaze was perfectly calm and serene, if slightly curious. The same could be said about his whole expression, as he now held his fingers intertwined on top of the yellowed pages.

"Father, I know that I disappointed you," Alfred said quickly, hoping to get the chance to explain himself, although there wasn't much to explain as it was. "And I know it's not an excuse, but the thing is that I panicked and I… I…"

The bishop drew a deep breath, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his thumb against his chin. "Oh, no, I'm not disappointed. Maybe a tad confused, da, but… first of all, what has led you to believe that you've disappointed me?"

The American swallowed, resuming staring down into his lap. "Well I've… clearly overreacted and I hurt Arthur and… I can't help thinking what the brothers must have thought of me for carrying a knife up my sleeve, inside the house and all. They can only think I must be some sort of… brute."

Braginski's eyebrow shot up, and he appeared genuinely surprised at the suggestion. "Mm… no. There is nothing wrong with carrying a knife up your sleeve at all times, da, after all, this house is hardly a _stronghold_. I've never said we'd be perfectly safe while inside, have I? And you mustn't worry about Arthur either, da."

Not worry about Arthur? No, of course, he was a vampire and vampires healed, but still, all that blood...It hadn't been like slaying a ghoul and that had been so striking for Alfred, that the knife hadn't cut through the putrid flesh he was used to but instead warm, red blood had gushed from the wound, coating his fingers. It had just looked too real, like he'd stabbed someone very much alive and besides, he was quite aware of the pain he'd caused the boy.

"I know, but I just-"

"What concerns me though, da, "Braginski interrupted him, "is whether you really thought I'd let him hurt you. If we want this to work, I'll need you to trust me, William."

The American winced – how had the bishop read his mind? And could he say plainly, even to himself, that he didn't trust the man? Well, he hardly trusted anyone by default. The only person who had ever tried to get somewhat close to him had been Father Francis Bonnefoy, but there was a certain cold, calculating air about the man which had sometimes made Alfred's imagination picture him as a sorcerer manoeuvring everyone like pieces on his chessboard. And the boy knew himself to be just a tool in skilful hands.

The Bishop leaned back in his chair as an answer had yet to be given. "I don't really need you to say anything in return," he stated, observing the younger's inner struggle. "I realise that our means are questionable, but... I just do what I can, fully aware that in the end things might just go horribly wrong for all of us, da. That's why most of my men here have willingly chosen to do this job and I've made it my policy not to recruit anyone under twenty. That makes you an exception from that point of view also..." The ashen blond paused, his large purple eyes growing softer. "As for Arthur, it's a tragedy that he lost his life at such a young age and at the hands of his own relative... But he _is dead_ , William, and we can't do anything about it."

Alfred took a deep breath, still not wanting to meet the other's gaze. Only now it wasn't out of anguish anymore, but rather from a sudden feeling of tiredness and being burdened with so much. Maybe Braginski wasn't really using the vampire's ability to read people's minds, maybe the man was simply insightful in a way which escaped his own understanding because he was too young.

"So, you are saying..."

"I am saying that you can ask to withdraw from this mission, considering that you haven't expressly made this choice, da," the Russian replied. "No, don't." he added as the boy had opened his mouth to protest. "I know that you think you're bound to go through with this because your situation. You think you owe it, especially to Father Bonnefoy, but please consider that if you die, he'll just be sad for a bit and then just send someone else. He offered help and I asked for his best, but I did not know that you were so young."

Alfred's lip trembled as he released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"I want to go through with it. And Father Bonnefoy does care about me!"

He didn't know why the sudden need to assert that, to blurt it out loud, as if going past his lips would reinforce those words, make them truer. No, it didn't matter, it didn't matter! He was a soldier of the Church, he'd been raised for it and wouldn't allow himself to falter in his determination and duty.

"Of course," Ivan Braginski said, standing from his chair slowly. Walking up towards the door, he paused briefly by the boy's side and let the backs of his fingers brush gently against Alfred's cheek.

* * *

Fingers nervously patted the wall as the dirty-blond boy stumbled down the stairs in the darkness, all the while asking himself why on earth he was doing this in the first place. But however rational the bishop's arguments, guilt ate at him and Alfred needed to make sure, to see with his own eyes that the little vampire was alright. Well, 'alright' was of course a manner of speaking...

It was midday now and while upstairs it had sounded like a remotely good idea to check on him, now in the darkness of the cellar the American was beginning to second-guess himself. Hands blindly found the heavy lock and he pushed the door open, briefly soothed by the faint but warm glow of the lone candle which was still burning on the wall. But the obscurity of the stone chamber was deeper than the first time he'd been down there and the place looked like a tomb more than ever. For the first time now though he noted a pair of boots placed neatly on the side of the coffin, but for some reason the small detail made everything appear far more horrific.

 _Well, it_ is _a tomb..._

Like the first time Braginski had taken him down there, the coffin was closed. Alfred had frozen on the doorstep, fingers gripping the worn wooden frame as he stared at it. Maybe he had no real reason to fear the boy resting inside (and he wouldn't have won such an early reputation if he'd been a scaredy cat), but it was more than just regular, plain fear holding him in place now, stifling his every muscle. It was a much deeper sort of dread, as if his heart told him that what lay there was a thing so damned that the worst kind of doom awaited in its slightest proximity.

And yet, despite that silent but powerful inner warning, he willed his fear away. Light steps carried him closer and closer and he kneeled in front of the sinister crate, letting his hands wander a bit on the smooth, polished surface of the lid, almost like in a tender caress.

" _Arthur?_ " he inwardly asked, shyly and honestly hoping that he wasn't intruding. But he clearly _was_ intruding, wasn't he? However, no answer came and a pang of worry shot through his stomach, decisively guiding Alfred's hands to the edge of the lid and making him open it all the way, in a brusque motion.

The vampire was asleep, or so he hoped. One hand bent under the slowly tilted head and the other resting on the blanket covering his body almost up to his shoulders, Arthur lay peacefully, his chest disturbingly unmoving. It was clear now that no breath left the pale lips. _But this isn't... of out order, is it?_ _It's daytime so he is fully dead during the day... But at practice...?_ The American stared, gaze trailing down the other boy's body and wondering if he should... what exactly?

Alfred then turned abruptly, looking past his shoulder anxiously as he thought he'd heard a faint noise coming from up the stairs. He waited, heart pounding madly in his chest – if caught he'd have some explaining to do as to why exactly he was down here – but it was nothing. Sighing softly, he turned back only to have his throat gripped viciously by a hand as merciless as it was dainty and find himself turned around and his back slammed into the nearest wall.

"You don't have even the slightest notion of good manners, do you? Creeping up like that!"

The dirty-blond had had the air kicked out of his lungs as he'd been sent flying and now pressed his heaving chest with both hands, trying to catch his breath. "'m sorry... unfamiliar... vampire etiquette..." Alfred tried to be sarcastic but the effect was entirely lost in the half-suffocated stuttering.

The Englishman now sat stiffly upright in his coffin, arms crossed and a sour expression which relaxed slightly as he rolled his eyes. "And what in the bloody hell are you doing here anyway?!"

"I'm sorry, okay?... about the other day, I didn't mean to... I just wanted to see if you were alright. A-and now I just called you through our bond, precisely because I didn't want to disturb too much, but then when you didn't answer... that was a bad sign. You know, like, not thinking anything? So I thought-"

A perplexed scowl crept on the vampire's face, making Alfred cease his rant. "Good God, I wasn't thinking anything and you sensed it through our bond!" He really looked like he was about to facepalm. Hard. "It's certainly not a bloody _bond_! It's a one-way thing, namely I read your mind – not that there's an awful lot to read anyway - and speak to your thoughts. You didn't really thing it was something you could reciprocate, do you?" Arthur snorted. "You didn't think you could read _my_ mind in turn?"

No, he hadn't really thought that. But how the hell was he supposed to know how these things worked anyway?! And now Arthur was going to be unpleasant, either because he was pissed at being thus woken up or simply because he was British – Father Bonnefoy had told him on several occasions that the British were insufferable – or both, but anyhow, this would not end well.

"No. I-I'm sorry," the American apologized as demurely as he could. "I just... this is all new to me and nobody really bothered to explain about this stuff. Again, I apologize."

"Bring me tea."

The dirty-blond's gaze shot up in complete bewilderment, both at the blunt tone of the request and at the object of it. "But you're a vampire, you don't drink tea! You drink...well-"

The mesmerizing green eyes blinked a few times, with the sleepy laziness of a cat, fixing him. "Simpleton! Of course I drink tea."

"Oh..."

"Black, with only a few drops of milk and no sugar. Do you understand?"

Alfred frowned. "I don't care how the hell you drink your damned tea, just as I don't care that you're the nephew of some lord! It's not my job to be your servant!"

The Englishman crossed his legs and slouched down, resting his chin in his hand. "No, but seeing how it will be my job to make sure you don't kick the bucket ahead of schedule in this mission, you might as well show some benevolence. Don't you think?" he stated innocently. Oh well, wasn't he the epitome of cuteness now...

"Fine... " the other blond agreed, sighing and shaking his head as he stood up and headed for the door. "Slave driver..."


	6. Chapter 6

Obviously, the brothers didn't have any black tea. Tea and coffee were very expensive commodities in fact, but it hadn't occurred to Alfred at all at the time. It must have been some strange vampire magic in Arthur's gaze and his unusually gentle words, he pondered, watching the boiling teapot now placed over the fire with a scowl. Brother Heracles had provided some chamomile instead and it still was some sort of tea, right? He rolled his eyes and shook his head - only a few drops of milk, wasn't it? Now the greenish concoction took a positively unsightly appearance once the milk was added and a grimace crept onto the American's face as he stared at it. At best the little vampire would probably hurl the cup in his face.

" _Come outside, please."_

The voice in his head made the blond pause in his tracks in the middle of the narrow hallway, one hand clutching the tea mug carefully. Outside? He peeked through the back door, which seemed to have been left open on purpose. For once the weather was milder and even if the air was quite chilly, pale rays of sun caressed the frozen ground. _Sun?_

Deciding that probably nothing was too odd these days, Alfred stepped out in the back yard and into the cold winter day, steam rising from the still hot mug he was holding and from his breath. He tried to ignore the sight of the small stone chapel where Braginski had shown him the girl's remains – he could only hope they hadn't brought in any new bodies, not that he was planning to check. To his absolute shock, the Englishman was there, seated casually upon a log, one leg placed gracefully over the other, looking expectant. A few pale rays fell onto his sheet-white face and in his blond bangs, making the light green of his eyes appear even more striking.

"B-but the sun… won't you…?" the dirty-blond boy stuttered, eyes wide in horror as he drew closer cautiously. He'd thought the vampires would burst into flames instantly upon being touched by the light of the sun and even mere daylight was supposed to be harmful enough to them! But there he was, in full sunlight and nothing spectacular whatsoever happened. Right…

"I know, but it's a strange perk, if you will," Arthur explained lazily, "for never having drunk anyone dry." He reached out and took the warm beverage from the other's hand and made a face upon observing the contents of the mug.

The American knew that it should have been something to feel relieved about, but a chill ran down his spine nevertheless as he remained standing in front of the vampire, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"It means I've never killed anyone," the vampire clarified boredly, not bothering to look up this time. "And this looks appalling, you know?"

The young apprentice drew a breath and then let it out slowly, a thin thread of steam escaping his lips before quickly dissipating into the air. He reckoned that it was a good idea not to press on the subject further – perhaps it was rather reassuring to know that Arthur was not _that_ monstrous (one of the reasons why the bishop had kept him alive in the first place), but clearly… there was something his words were not quite revealing. Yes, perhaps he'd never drunk anyone dry, but hemost likely _had_ bitten people… For a moment, Alfred's imagination slipped into picturing how it would have been to feel those pearly white, sharp teeth on his own throat, piercing his skin and-…

He snapped out of it noticing that Arthur was now watching him intently, but then the other blond broke the stare and rolled his eyes. Thankfully, no snide comment followed, although he was sure that the vampire must have been reading his mind. He inwardly braced himself nonetheless, because _something_ was coming – namely the reason Arthur had asked him to come here.

"Well, now that you woke me up this early, you might as well show me how good you are," the Englishman requested, tapping his foot lightly against the log. He took a graceful sip of the mug and raised his eyebrows, expectant.

Alfred blinked. "How good I am at what?"

"Not at deductions, clearly…" the vampire served it to him promptly."Well, the other day you proved your skills in combat, but those are not really your weapons of choice, are they? You were trained mostly and fight best with pistols. I want to see a demonstration." He took another sip. "Besides, you should practice, shouldn't you?" he added, matter-of-factly emphasizing the validity of his demand.

The American almost gritted his teeth. What an incredible pain this man was! He'd actually meant to practice earlier – reason for which the twin weapons were sheathed at his belt – but now that Arthur had specifically requested it, the thought of practicing was suddenly annoying. But darn, he wasn't going to let the obnoxious little vampire think that he was doubtful of his own skills. He was good and he was going to prove it!

"Fine," he agreed, hands reaching down simultaneously and gripping the weapons. "Pick a target."

The Englishman pondered, letting his gaze wander around the back yard and then further, past the enclosing stone wall. "There," he said eventually, pointing to a tall fir tree located on the other side of the wall. The thick trunk rose well above it, the branches shadowing a good portion of the ground below. "Try to hit every single cone on that branch."

* * *

The little boy's nose was almost pressed onto the cold glass of the mirror he was looking through as the gunfire resounded rhythmically, Alfred taking turns with aiming with both hands as he squinted a bit to see the miniscule cones hidden randomly through the needle-like leaves. Behind him, Arthur stretched his legs a bit and then once more placed them one on top of the other while continuing to sip his tea, a smug smile on his lips as a couple of shots hit the trunk in full instead of their target.

"I like the American with the pistols," the boy said excitedly. "He's pretty good at it, don't you think, big brother?" he asked, turning and peering into the darkness which engulfed the rest of the large stone hall.

"Yeah… he is. But he'll make a light snack for Erzsebet and her lot, just like the others. Come, Andrei…"

The boy sighed and moved away from the magic mirror. His small, worn boots playfully kicked at a heap of dry leaves piled on the checkered floor as he trotted towards the back of the hall and his brother's outstretched hand. Pale, slender fingers wrapped around his tiny hand as he offered it, allowing himself to be pulled closer as the other affectionately caressed his messy hair.

"Before all this madness began no one knew of us," the older, strawberry blond boy said thoughtful, leaning onto the backrest of his plushy throne, the gaze of his ruby-red eyes trailing from the mirror to his little brother. "We've been very discreet. Almost no one has ever died at our hands, unless they got really sick afterwards, and even so, no one has ever known _why_. We've always done it in their sleep, no one's ever seen us, not a soul. There's never been any pain, any horror. Until Erzsebet… and her accursed Austrian!"

Andrei climbed up in his lap and rested his head against his shoulder, sighing again, but his eyes still glued to the mirror and Alfred's practice. "Is it so bad, then, Vali?" he asked softly.

"It is actually," his brother confirmed, in the same begrudging tone. "She left a trail of corpses in her wake and now – just like our insane Italian cousins who have driven the Pope up the wall with their antics - she's brought the dogs of the Church to our doorstep, to hunt us down like beasts."

The little boy looked up brusquely, in alarm, his eyebrows furrowed in concern and bright red eyes wide. "Are we getting scared, big brother?"

Valentin grimaced and stretched his left hand, examining his long, sharp nails with a blunt expression. "No, we are getting aggravated… In fact, I only see two ways out of this bothersome situation: one – we go out and slaughter them all – but that will be tedious work and quite useless, because the Church will just send more men, so we'll never see the end of this; and two – we will get rid of Erzsebet and her lover and once they are dead I believe everyone will be satisfied and there'll be no more trouble. After all, the Church dogs only know about _them_."

"But we can't, can we, big brother? We cannot kill our own kind!" Andrei pointed.

"Sadly, no we can't, or we would have done it a very long time ago and spared ourselves of a lot of mishaps," the strawberry blond agreed. "But perhaps we can find a way to help this young man you admire so, don't you think, Andrei? He's got quite the reputation and great hope is placed on him. So why shouldn't he be the one to save the day? Yes, we believe so…"

* * *

Alfred sat slumped in the armchair, a bit tired and mentally exhausted by the afternoon spent in the Englishman's company. He constantly found himself on edge around the other boy for some unknown reason – since he had nothing to fear really. No, it wasn't that, he realised as he watched the bishop fidgeting around the library again, it was because he almost instinctively struggled to figure the vampire out. Why though, he could not tell.

"Anyway, we must do something and we must begin somewhere," Braginski said, dropping onto his chair eventually, "so we might as well begin with this, da." He held up a piece of paper with an address and a rusty iron key. "As we talked before, it is important to know before anything else whether Roderich Edelstein too was turned," the Russian explained." But then again, there are very few ways in which that could be found out. We do know however that he used to own a house in town, in which he stayed when he visited the countess, back when they were both among the living. I was surprised to discover it, because I'd thought he'd used to stay with her at the castle, da. But no, it turned out that he wanted a house of his own around here –well, it's not a house, more like a mansion of sorts, fit for someone of his status. It's located in the town outskirts and it appears to have been abandoned ever since his death."

"And what are we to do with that?" Arthur asked, motioning towards the items the bishop was holding.

The priest shrugged. "Well, if he's still… 'around' so to speak, I figure he'd be still visiting his house, da. I want you two to investigate a bit. I've got the key – don't ask how – so I want you to go there and take a look around. The town's people think the place is cursed, so there's little chance anyone else could have been inside all this time. So if there is any indication that someone has been there recently, it can only be him."

Alfred gulped, suddenly stricken by dread. "But… what if he's there?"

For a moment the Russian blinked, seeming puzzled enough for the dirty-blond to suspect he hadn't considered this possibility at all. But apparently he had, though. "That's why you will be going in daytime and besides, Arthur will be with you, da."

The American's gaze swept over the vampire's lanky, fragile frame and his stomach cringed, all the more since he thought of the silver needles stuck into his body. They weren't visible now, concealed by clothing, but they were there, draining his magic and making him weak. That and he'd been told that the binding spells only allowed Arthur to feed on animal blood during the small periods of time he was allowed out to hunt – another downside as far as his strength was concerned.

"But… he is much stronger than Arthur, isn't he?"

" _You might want to stop talking about me like I'm not here!"_

"I thought of that, of course," Braginski said casually, pulling a thick book out of the pile on his desk. "That's why I will bind Arthur's powers to you. We'll take the needles out, but in exchange you will be completely harnessing his strength. With your will alone you will be able to release it to its full potential, da."

The dirty-blond boy nearly smiled at the idea of an actual bond between him and the Englishman, all the more since the idea had seemed so ridiculous to the other before. And the thought of having his power restrained by him must have irked the little vampire more than a little bit. Arthur didn't say anything to that – telepathically or otherwise – but he was sulking, that much was obvious. But it was also a great responsibility, Alfred realised – at the end of the day the vampire was a weapon he was supposed to wield just like any other. And the thought of confronting Roderich Edelstein... well, it was daunting to say the least.

"Then I suppose... we could manage," he said at last, while the other boy remained stubbornly silent.

Braginski sighed. "It is important to be discreet in this matter and this is the reason I'm sending the two of you alone – we really don't want to draw any unwanted attention. Therefore you'll pretend you are interested in acquiring the property if anyone happens to show up – hopefully no one will though – so that should work."

_Sure, it will be great to play a couple of loons who'd want to pay a lot of money on a haunted house in the outskirts, and which has probably also gone roughly out of fashion... Yes, perfectly reasonable too._

"Now then, it's settled," the bishop concluded. "We should get to it."


	7. Chapter 7

The old carriage rattled a bit onto the unpaved road covered in frozen lumps of mud. Alfred gazed out the window from time to time, but even though it was only late afternoon the cloud-laden sky was quite dark. He had yet to see the small town located in the proximity of Braginski's parish house and couldn't wait for them to leave the black, leafless forest behind. The blond looked down at his clothes again – the bishop had made him wear a set of simple black robes, fit for a country priest and which could comfortably accommodate his pistols underneath. But the American could tell there was something wrong with them, maybe it was that he'd never worn full black before or... ' _It's the face_ ' Arthur had pointed out ' _you don't look like a priest, not even a novice_ '. ' _Yeah? And what do I look like?''Like a hired gunman in a poor disguise.'_ At which point the Russian had gently intervened and put an end to the dispute by stating that neither priests nor hired gunmen really looked in any particular way.

On the worn seat opposite, the vampire sat sulking again, wrapped in a long black woolen coat purported to conceal his lack of adequate clothing for a supposedly wealthy young man. A little top hat - equally black - completed his outfit which contrasted with and complimented his fair complexion more than just a little bit. He looked tired though, being pulled from his sleep at such an hour and Alfred knew he'd needed quite a bit of rest after the brothers had worked to remove the silver needles from his body. He shouldn't have been in pain anymore, but the idea of having his powers restrained by Alfred probably annoyed the hell out of him, hence the rudeness from earlier and the current gloomy expression.

"Do you still think I look like a hired gunman?" the taller blond asked, not so much as to continue the argument from before, but as to take his mind off things to come. "Where did you get that idea, anyway? No one can see my guns, after all."

"Yes. Like I said, it's your face. "Arthur replied stubbornly, glancing out the window and refusing to meet his gaze. "It looks suspicious."

 _Suspicious?_ Alfred blinked a couple of times, then scowled. "And how would you know what the people in town will think of me? You've never even been in town – Father Braginski told me how your uncle kept you locked in his castle all your life!"

He knew he'd hit in full when the green-eyed blond's face fell suddenly, his eyes going wide with some unseen horror, but it all lasted for a mere split-second. "That's ridiculous, of course he didn't 'keep me locked in his castle'," Arthur said bluntly, sticking his nose up. "And don't think you know _anything_ about my life! What's it to you anyway?"

"Maybe it's because you make such a fuss about being dead. A lot of people are dead, you know?"

But the vampire decided to ignore him this time and very soon the American's attention was drawn to the view as they finally entered the town. He stared in wonder at the houses of rather unfamiliar architecture and at the people going about their business on the narrow, cobblestoned streets, dressed in foreign garments the like of which he'd never seen before. It was a small town indeed, nested between two hills and it looked quite colorful and animated, a pleasant change from the relatively grim past couple of weeks.

Alfred couldn't help a smile at the thought, before noticing the vampire's frown as the latter stubbornly stared in his own lap, refusing to look at anything. A pang of guilt made his stomach cringe at the thought he'd offended-… no, he'd positively _hurt_ the other boy, and before the carriage left the town behind again and they reached their destination, he'd almost made up his mind to apologize. _Almost._

* * *

Roderich Edelstein's former dwelling was located on one of the hills towering over the town, foreboding in its size and peculiarity. But even after so much time, the mansion looked nothing short of impressive. The bricks had blackened and countless ivy strains had crept up the walls, like the embrace of a thousand dark skeletal arms, the wooden shutters covering the windows were rotten and some broken, grass and weeds had grown on the front steps and on outer windowsills. There also was a large terrace on the side, the top and sides covered by a beautifully decorated glass awning, but now the glass was dirty and broken in places, the iron wrought frames in the shape of sinuous grapevines eaten by rust. And still, despite its eerie and decrepit air, it still looked majestic and it reminded Alfred of some of the rich buildings he'd seen back in France.

But he could not waste time with such useless thoughts – the blond turned back to the carriage, throwing an inquisitive glance at his companion. Arthur had gotten out of it eventually and simply stood there, with his arms crossed, a clear scowl on his face. Behind him, down in the valley, the town unfolded in its entire cheerful, simple splendor under the pale afternoon sun and the American chewed on his bottom lip nervously, reminded of their earlier talk.

"You know, I was thinking… if we finish quickly, we might… I mean I might let you have a look around…" he said in a low voice, motioning towards the view.

The vampire's frown deepened, morphing into an almost openly hurt expression for a fleeting moment. "Look at _what_?" he retorted sharply, green eyes narrowed.

"Well around town, actually. If you've never-"

Arthur snorted loudly, before he could finish the sentence. "As if there were anything worth seeing! It's just a shit town!" His pale lips were pressed for a second as he inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly and looking away. "Now if you'd stop wasting our time."

 _God, he's like a stubborn child…and I only wanted to help._ Alfred couldn't help shaking his head, sighing, but fortunately the smaller blond had already walked past him, towards the mansion entrance, digging in his coat pocket while he muttered something unintelligible.

"Disgusting! What a shit house! Has he lost his mind?! Thinking we could pretend to want to buy this dump!" the American heard him grumbling under his breath as he drew closer after dismissing the driver and watching the carriage start back down the hill slope towards the town. He rather thought it was a bad idea to have to walk all the way back on their return, but the man would not wait for them under any circumstances. It had been trouble enough for the bishop to convince him to take them to the place everyone thought was cursed and haunted by evil spirits.

In the meantime Arthur was still struggling with the lock which was obviously rusted on the inside, rendering the key they'd been given quite useless. Eventually, the Englishman lost his patience entirely and slammed his boot into the door – rather lightly as to not send it flying inside – and it swung open with a loud creak, disturbing ancient cobwebs and tearing up a few dried ivy strains. He then stopped, thoughtful, staring at the patch of light newly made on the checkered marble floor, now covered by a thick layer of dust and random dry leaves carried inside by the wind.

"What is it?"

The dirty-blond boy peeked inside too, taking in what was visible at a first glance. "There are no fresh traces of footsteps…" he stated, brushing past Arthur and making his way into the large hallway at the entrance. His eager gaze swept about the place - a crystal chandelier hung above, matted by dust and cobwebs, in front there was a broad staircase leading to the first and only floor and on the sides tall, sumptuous double doors opened to what once had been elegant drawing rooms. Alfred stared around in wonder, unable to help imagining how beautiful all these things must have looked once, when clean or polished. His steps carried him to the right and the American wandered into the vast room, squinting a bit in the dim light barely filtering through the cracks and holes in the closed shutters. Glancing at the large mantelpiece he suddenly felt the cold and rubbed his upper arms heartily a few times.

"What are you doing?" The vampire had accidentally leaned against the doorframe and now was hastily dusting off his shoulder. "He's not here."

The taller blond nodded. "I was thinking the same… it doesn't look like there's been anyone in here in ages…" he agreed, a bit sad at the thought that they had no reason to explore the mansion some more.

"Let's see what's upstairs," the Englishman said, looking up the staircase and his gaze resting for a moment upon the coat of arms on display on the wall where the stairs split in two different flights, to the left and to the right.

"But what could be-" Alfred hurried to catch up, regretfully leaving the beautiful drawing room behind. "If there's nothing here, not a trace, then what…" He paused curtly, frowning. Maybe it was a trap?

The green-eyed boy went up the stairs with light steps, glancing around carefully. His scowl had disappeared and now he simply appeared curious, if vaguely intrigued. He decided to go up to the left, without bothering to see if the other was following. At the end of the stairs there was a long corridor, but it was sunken in darkness.

"Strange, the smell of mold and dust is barely perceptible in here," Arthur observed, sniffing discreetly and peering along the corridor with several doors on the right side. He looked down at his feet, where his boot had stopped at the edge of a carpet. Kneeling slowly, he fingered the thick fabric, scowling again. "What the hell? This is rather new… and _clean_."

The American cringed, suddenly alert, his hands flying down to his two weapons as the other stood up and advanced, opening the first door. Weird enough, it was pitch dark inside, without a single beam of light. He heard the vampire tsking softly and his light steps as he disappeared inside, followed by some displeased grumbling.

"What are you doing in there?! Arthur!"

Alfred jumped, startled and squinted as the room was lit suddenly by a multitude of candles which apparently the vampire had lit by repeated snaps of his fingers. His breath hitched as he looked at the spacious living quarters, tastefully furnished with elegant sofas and armchairs placed upon a lush Persian carpet. Immediately he saw why there had been no light breaking in from the outside – the windows were completely covered by thick velvet curtains, apparently in that very purpose. Everything was perfectly kept and there was no dust anywhere. _Not good…._

Arthur now stood by a large piano placed in a corner, studying it with an unreadable expression. Then he sat down on the stool and lifted the polished lid, before lightly running his index fingers over a few random keys.

"Not even a bit out of tune… hm. I'd say _someone_ still plays at it." The green-eyed blond then ran his hand some more on the smooth surface on top of the instrument, as if in a bizarre caress. "Very well kept and not a speck of dust… someone is very fond of it, I think." He sighed.

The taller blond drew closer, curiously observing the rather unfamiliar instrument. It very remotely resembled the large pipe organ he'd seen in their church back in France, but the sound was completely different. "Do you like it?"

The Englishman snorted bitterly. "My uncle wanted me to play so he got me a tutor. He would always hit my hands with a long, thin stick every time I made the tiniest mistake. The backs of my fingers used to be so full of wounds that I wondered how come they didn't fall off or something."

Alfred's gaze darted involuntarily towards the vampire's pale, dainty hands now resting sheepishly in his lap. The milky skin was smooth like porcelain, unblemished.

"Your fingers are perfect," he blurted out without thinking.

"Yes… now that I'm dead, everything is perfect." Arthur murmured almost inaudibly, moving to replace the lid over the piano's keys.

The other boy could only bite his lip at this awkwardly, not finding any words to say, and quickly averted his gaze. His eyes landed on the large painting hanging right above the marble mantelpiece somewhere to his left and became immediately glued to it. It was a portrait in natural size of a man – the kind of thing he'd never seen before – and the depiction was so vivid that he could swear the man was going to start moving or speaking, or even step out of the frame anytime now.

It was the portrait of a young man with very black hair, fashionably ruffled a bit and dark blue eyes behind thin, gold-rimmed spectacles. His skis was as pale as the finest porcelain, contrasting with the midnight-blue velvet coat he wore, complimented by delicate silver embroideries around the collar and the hem of his sleeves. Yet despite his obvious beauty and elegance, the man had a stiff, rigid air, from the formal posture of his body to the stern look on his face and his eyes… The American squinted and took a step closer, paying close attention on how the candlelight reflected off the dry, finely cracked oil, in an attempt to figure out what was about those eyes that bothered him.

 _There is something odd about him…_ He took a step to the side, then another one and blinked. No, he couldn't have gone mad all the sudden or his own eyes to deceive him like this! No, Alfred was sure, the man was _watching him_.

"My God!" he murmured, still unable to free himself from the evil spell of those sapphire orbs.

Arthur, who appeared to have fallen into melancholy, rapidly snapped out of it and – having quickly read his companion's mind - rolled his eyes. "It's a bloody painting, Jones. Of course it's _not_ looking at you!"

The dirty-blond swallowed and fought to turn around, away from the sight. "I-It's Roderich Edelstein, isn't it? He… um… he was quite young, wasn't he?" he pointed the obvious. "W-when he died, I mean."

"Indeed, I believe this is our man and yes, he was much younger than Erzsebet," the vampire confirmed, standing at last and drawing closer to observe the painting. "I suppose he appreciated experience in a woman. Or something…"

"How can you say this, so… coldly?" Suddenly the taller blond's temper flared again, reminded of the apparent indifference of everyone else to the gravity of this situation and which irked him to no end. "He's dead! One way or the other… He and his poor wife and his servants – all slaughtered in their home! They were innocent people! Do you not care at all?!" he nearly shouted.

Green eyes widened in genuine surprise at this and for a moment Arthur seemed to be simply choking with indignation. His mouth opened, but all that came out was a loud breath, before he promptly turned his back on the American and walked away a few paces, hands clasped behind his back and fingers twitching nervously.

"How the hell can _you_ say that?! How can you pity him?!" the Englishman spat eventually. "Were you not told what he was like? And… he's dead you say. Well guess what, everyone dies, but at least _he had a life_ , while he had it! He lived a lush life in Vienna, he studied music, he went to dances and parties, he went hunting, he had lovers and… and _he was free_!" Arthur paused, suddenly beginning to choke in sobs and his eyes filled with tears. "If _I_ had a lover, I would be… ah… grateful!" He paused again, breathing hard, sniffing and hastily wiping his cheeks and his nose with the back of his hand, with little effect as tears continued to spill and slide down his face. "And this man you pity had countless women and he ditched them all like broken toys and he _bloody brought this_ upon himself and his wife and his servants when he kicked the wrong one to the curb! His wife was an innocent victim, his servants were innocent victims, but not him!"

The apprentice looked back at the painting, who now looked down at him arrogantly, appearing to mock him even and scowled. He would not admit it, but the Englishman's words had stirred some things inside of him, things he'd stuffed down years ago and which now came up again, to eat at him with renewed strength. _'He was free'_. Indeed, during his life Roderich Edelstein had been a free man, with a family, a name and a status, not an orphaned child stuck with his insane uncle or a bastard shunned by his own blood and forced to become a dog of the Church.

Alfred's fists clenched to his sides and he shook his head, trying to break free from these poisonous thoughts. "Come on, Arthur, I think we should-"

He stopped shortly when the vampire, who had collapsed on a loveseat still crying softy sat up, his eyes wide and alert, staring at the door. "There's someone in here." he murmured, his body tense like a bow as he slowly crawled off the seat and made his way back to his companion, gripping his arm.

"But you said he wasn't here!" the American protested weakly as Arthur dragged him away through the communicating doors leading deeper inside the house.

"It's not a vampire."


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur rushed into the darkness of the next room, hastily dragging the other boy's arm, with enough strength to cause a long-lasting bruise. "Drat! We made way too much noise and lighting the candles… that was a grave mistake!" he muttered, more to himself. "Just because I couldn't smell anyone… but I was _sure_ there was no one, though! How could they have been lying in wait, so perfectly hidden?!"

"Arthur, wait!" the American hissed, unable to free himself and trying to keep up with the other's steps. "You said it's not a vampire, so couldn't it be just some caretaker of sorts? And in this event, don't we have the pretense of wanting to buy the house?!"

"Caretaker my ass! That thing is foul! We need to get out of here! Now!"

"But-"

Alfred couldn't help feeling a crude disappointment that they were fleeing like that, without a fight, but he thought he had better trust the vampire's instincts. Maybe it was that Arthur wasn't as strong as Braginski gave him credit for? Or maybe he was just unprepared, after all it took a certain mindset to be a fighter, irrespective of the actual powers one possessed. At any rate, the smaller blond seemed hell-bent on leaving the mansion, as he shoved his shoulder impatiently against a locked door momentarily blocking their path and got them both out in the dark corridor. From there, the green-eyed boy made for the stairs without delay, as fast as Alfred's human feet could follow.

And then, just as the two of them reached the top of the stairs, a blood-curdling cackle resounded behind them and the front door of the mansion, left open as they'd walked in, was slammed shut in front of their very eyes.

"H-Holy Mother of God…" the blue-eyed blond whispered faintly, gulping, while his free hand flew to one of his guns beneath the robes. He eyed the darkness of the hallway they'd left behind, but nothing could be seen there. Only that horrid sound came again, closer this time.

The vampire dragged him down the stairs regardless, towards the closed door, only stopping as they'd reached the bottom and suddenly candles were magically lit all around the large hallway, bathing it into a golden glow. As soon as Arthur released his hand, instead looking around bewildered and wide-eyed, the apprentice's guns were instantly draw out and pointed towards the hooded figure which had now appeared where the two of them had stood not moments before.

"Now, that's an unexpected surprise, someone daring to break into my master's house!" the creature drawled, lifting its head and allowing the badly wrinkled face of an old woman to come into view. "And who might you two pretty boys be?" She sniffed a couple of times, as if smell would have provided the answer. "A priest… or not." Wicked, dark eyes took in the American's pistols with open amusement. "And you? Hard to figure out…"

"Who are you?! Hold it right there!" Alfred shouted, taking aim while stepping backwards a little.

"Ah well, not important," the hag went on, starting down the steps as if she was blind and deaf, oblivious to what was going on."I'm afraid you will not leave this room alive," she added and licked her lips.

Two gunshots resounded in reply, aimed at the hideous creature wrapped in black rags, and she seemed to falter. But then her body simply dissolved into twirls of dark smoke rushing down the stairs and towards them. The apprentice gasped in utter horror and drew backwards, nearly stumbling onto his companion, but not fast enough – his legs were grabbed and for a few dreadful moments he found himself hanging up in the air upside down, the guns lost, before he was sent flying against one of the wood wainscoted walls. The impact kicked the air out of his lungs and right afterwards his body collapsed from quite a height, colliding with the hard floor.

In the meantime the vampire had picked up one of the pistols and fired repeatedly at the bizarre form, fast enough to follow its hasty movements as it sought a point to attack him as well. Until the woman suddenly appeared right in front of Arthur, a clawed hand shooting out to grab his throat. The Englishman hit her across the face, momentarily sending her down to the floor with a shriek, but the hag stood back up almost instantly.

"A-Arthur… I… release you f-fully," the blue-eyed blond managed to whisper, forcing some air into his chest which now felt crushed from the nasty blow and fall. His body ached all over, discouraging any attempts at moving from where he was currently lying, in a helpless heap.

The witch only laughed, drawing back as she got another blow from the vampire. "Oh, I see… But I have the thing for you, little demon!"

The clawed hand dug under the rags and pulled out a small flask, uncorking it with the thumb before throwing out a clear liquid right into the smaller blond's face. Arthur screamed – a horrible, terrifying scream piercing into the apprentice's skull in the same time as the smell of burnt flesh hit his nostrils.

_Holy water._

"You won't defeat me, Ana Darvulia! Don't think I'm afraid of you, or your accursed mistress!" the Englishman hissed, shedding his cloak with one hand while with the other covered the disfigured half of his face. There was a gale of wind sweeping across the room as he spoke and all the candles went out. He lunged forward, but the black form fell to the ground with a cackle, eluding him as it morphed into countless black rats scattering across the floor.

The green-eyed boy waited in silence for a few moments after the rats had disappeared, then rushed to the side of the other, who had managed to haul himself on his knees by then.

"Come on, we have to leave! Now, before she returns!" he prompted. An arm wrapped itself tightly around Alfred's waist, hurling him up in no time. The door still wouldn't budge, but the vampire easily broke one of the windows with a mere kick, bright light pouring into the closed space all the sudden.

Leaping out of the sinister dwelling felt to the young apprentice as if leaving a tomb and coming back to life. Arthur however was not inclined to any contemplation as he now already hurried down the slope of the hill, towards the town, cradling the other boy in his arms so that his human feet would not slow them down and hinder their escape. The American kept his own bruised forehead buried into his companion's shoulder, not daring to look up at his now exposed wound. It was all much, much too horrible! He'd barely had the time to retrieve his guns after they'd been of no use whatsoever!

* * *

"So then, the witch Ana Darvulia is still alive, after all this time…" the bishop said, sighing. "It is definitely not something we have ever taken into account when planning our endeavor." He looked up at the two boys warily, rubbing his brow. "Arthur, are you absolutely sure it was her, though?"

The vampire nodded. "She's aged much, but those eyes… I would know them anywhere. And besides, who else could have such power? There was so much magic in that creature, almost palpable!"

Alfred involuntarily took his eyes off the priest seated in front of them and looked at his companion, only to notice that the green-eyed blond was trembling slightly. The horrid burnt wound on his face was completely gone by now, skin restored to its porcelain perfection, but the memory of it and of Arthur's scream lingered in his mind.

"But how? How does she still live, if she's not a vampire herself?" Braginski's scowl grew deeper and he stood from his chair, walking up to the window of the library and glancing outside, past the small eye of glass. "That is of little interest though, we are now to think of a way to deal with her, before we can ever hope of reaching Erzsebet. It's clear that the witch still serves the countess. Also, the fact that she watches over the Austrian's old house and you found the piano room in such an orderly state can only mean that _he_ is around too."

The American couldn't but share the bishop's conclusion, although he decided to keep to himself the startling observation about the man's portrait. Arthur had been quick to dismiss it as ridiculous, but he knew what he'd seen. And if so much magic was involved in this case, why could _that_ have been impossible? No, he didn't think it was out there for one to conclude that Roderich Edelstein kept an eye over his precious possessions through that accursed painting.

"At least we've wounded her!" he pointed, seeking a brighter side to the situation. "She may be too powerful for Arthur to defeat in a single fight, but isn't that proof that she's not invulnerable?"

But Arthur – whose face had gradually fallen worse and worse – suddenly turned on his heel and bolted from the room so quickly that the apprentice was hardly able to catch the movement with the corner of his eye. He could only hear the wooden noise of doors as they were stormed through as he rushed after the other boy as fast as he could.

"Arthur! Wait! Where are you-?"

But the noise could be now plainly tracked from the basement and Alfred could clearly hear the coffin lid being slammed shut with surprising violence as he was descending the treacherous steps. The one torch was still flickering from the draft as he reached the bottom of the stairs and looked into the stone chamber the door of which had been left wide open in the other's haste. He walked in with light steps and knelt next to the crate with a confused scowl.

"Alright, what is going on?"

 _Are you really that dense to ask such a question?! We are done for, you oaf, that's what's going on! What were you saying? What were you even thinking?! Darvulia is a_ witch _! Just because you've successfully bashed in some walking carcasses in the past doesn't mean you have any idea what you're dealing with currently! Father Braginski may have studied many books of magic but even he isn't ready to fight her, let alone anyone else! She will crush us like bugs, you bloody idiot!_

The blue-eyed blond scowled at the polished wood, shaking his head and suddenly plagued by a certain suspicion. "Well that's what you would say, since only you know her! But have said it yourself on the very night we met that you used to like Darvulia in her youth, when she visited your uncle's court… How do I know you didn't go easy on her tonight on purpose, Arthur? How do I know you're not actually protecting her?" he questioned sternly. The more he thought of it, the more sense it made. After all, the little Englishman was their prisoner and had no real reason to be loyal to their cause.

For a while there was silence, then the vampire's voice resounded in his mind, cool and composed despite the anger and strangely laced with something else, a disturbing mixture of horror and pain.

 _You absolute idiot, who do you think turned my uncle?! And then, three days after his funeral, I was made to obey his dying wish and visit his crypt at midnight, alone. And there he fed on me! He_ fed _on me! Now sod off and leave me alone!_

* * *

The moment his head hit the cool, crisp pillow, he sensed that something was off. There was a certain heaviness in the air of the small room, making it somewhat hard to breathe, while outside rain had begun to rap against the windows and the cold wind stirred the bare branches of trees. Alfred sighed, pulling the covers up to his neck and inwardly reassuring himself that a good night's sleep would help him see things more clearly in the morning.

_The sun was up in the sky and a cool morning breeze ruffled the long, sword-like leaves of the sugar plants. He liked how the fresh green stood proud and straight against the endless blue dotted with soft clouds, ever travelling above. Standing in the middle of the dusty path used by workers, Alfred glanced back at the large mansion built up on the towering hill, with bright white columns bathed in sunlight._

_So beautiful… but he wasn't allowed in there. Sometimes he would see his father – a tall, solid man with golden hair and rich beard, donning elegant riding clothes and high boots – ride his horse right up to the wide front steps and be greeted by children who were not his siblings and a woman who was not his mother._

_The little blond boy turned away from the big house and left the path leading into the depths of the plantation, instead trotting up a small cobbled road, towards a group of tall trees. A small white cottage was shielded there, by the thick trunks, countless flower pots placed at the foot of the walls._

" _Alfred!"_

_There she was – the one he'd stopped dreaming of many years before, the sweet, loving face which had been lost in the depths of his memory – his mother. Her raven black hair fell in shiny, perfect waves down her shoulders all the way to her waist, framing her pale but unearthly beautiful face and contrasting with the simple white dress. A blue silk ribbon marked her gracious waistline and her arms were bare, making the woman appear unbelievably young, almost childlike herself. One hand was stretched forward in invitation as she smiled at the boy, while the other was kept playfully hidden behind her back._

" _Mother!" Alfred called, excited, hurrying towards the house as fast as his small legs could carry him, closer and closer, eagerly awaiting the moment when those loving arms would hold him again and soft lips would be pressed against his heated forehead._

_Bright sunrays reflected like quick lightning onto the axe blade as it was swiftly swung – by the arm the brunette had been holding behind her back – slicing open the small throat and his head fell backwards, at an odd angle, the world spinning and twisting sickeningly as he instantly choked on his own gushing blood._

_Why?!_

Alfred sat up in bed, tears streaming freely down his face as he stared into the darkness. His trembling fingers could feel moisture on his neck, just below the chin, but it turned out to be just sweat. A dream, it had been just a dream… but why? Why would he dream of such a dreadful-

A sudden noise coming from the small wooden wardrobe cut his thoughts short and the American froze, barely daring to draw breath. There was silence, and then… there it was again. There was something inside, something big enough that the thin double doors were rattling now. No! No! No! He eyed the pistols resting on the nightstand, but Alfred already knew them to be of no use. In a desperate attempt, he tossed the covers aside, jumped off the bed and made for the door, risking to pass by the wardrobe on his way out. Ignoring the cold floor under his bare feet, he ran down the corridor without turning to see if the thing had managed to get out of its prison and was by any chance following him and headed straight to the basement.

* * *

Once inside he quickly shoved the heavy door shut and spun the key in the lock on the inside before turning to the vampire's resting place.

Trembling hands forced the coffin lid open and to his surprise it gave way easily, revealing the slumbering Englishman. He looked even paler than usual and his closed eyes were sunken in their sockets, surrounded by dark circles. He was dead after all, Alfred reminded himself fleetingly, still panting as he begged in a hushed tone. He was tired, in dire need of sleep, but there was no way he could even think of returning upstairs, to his room.

"Arthur, please…" he breathed choking, but the other boy was still, unmoving. "Please, let me stay here with you, I beg you! I humbly apologize for everything I said earlier!" The American reached and took hold of the pale hand resting on the smaller blond's chest and squeezed pleadingly. "Please! I'll be safe here with you, please!"

But the vampire still slept, undisturbed, and sleep lulled Alfred in, his body ached with fatigue and his eyes couldn't stay open any longer, but he was cold and scared and eventually Arthur's anger as he would find him there no longer mattered. So he simply pushed the other boy onto his side and squeezed himself into the narrow space he'd thus vacated, pulling the blanked over both their bodies. The moment his head touched the cold pillow the apprentice was finally allowed to slip into blissful oblivion.


	9. Chapter 9

It was cold. This minor fact was undeniable, the blanket was too thin or maybe it had slipped off and even in his sleep he curled up into as tight a ball as he could manage, but at least he was safe, comfortable in the assuredness that no evil was coming to grab him.

“….draft! _What the hell_?”

“If you want… I can… try… to… close the… lid…” Alfred mumbled, mostly in his sleep, before becoming painfully aware that the body he was currently lying upon had gone suddenly stiff.

There it went, the American fleetingly thought, already envisaging himself being sent flying and slamming against the stone wall in the unavoidable fit of the vampire’s wrath at the discovery of having his personal space invaded in this manner. But nothing happened for the moment, so he continued to lie there with his eyes closed, unwilling to let go of the comforts of restful slumber just yet.

“Idiot, if you close the lid you will suffocate! What on earth _are_ you doing here anyway?!”

The taller blond scowled at the pestering, moaning softly as sleep eventually began to leave him and he finally opened his eyes. With this occasion he discovered that somehow in his sleep he’d shifted on top of the other boy and the blanket had slipped half off, both reasons for which he was so exposed to the chill of the room. And now he knew he had to give an explanation as to why _that_ was.    

He licked his dry lips warily, in search of appropriate phrasing. “There was _something_ in my room...” He pushed himself up on his arms slowly, looking down at the vampire. His dream had been so horrible that Alfred had rather not mention it, he did not dare think of it even and Arthur… well, the Englishman was probably able to read it in his mind anyway. Indeed, the green eyes were glancing into his thoughtfully, probably scrutinizing, but he wasn’t letting anything out. At least he didn’t look as angry as the apprentice had expected under the circumstances, which was somewhat of a relief. 

“You know, if the Father finds you here, like _this_ , he will punish you, just like he did Heracles when he was caught visiting the Turk who sells sweets in town,” the vampire said, calmly but ominously. 

The American scowled some more. “Why? Was it during fast? Why was it so wrong to buy sweets?” he asked, while doing his best to squeeze himself in back on the side of the coffin and pull up the blanket over both of them.

“The Turk showed him his back room.”

“And? What was in there?”

_Jones, your ignorance is bothersome_ and _exhausting…_ Arthur rolled his eyes blatantly, then watched him intently before speaking.”A bed.”

Alfred blinked. While he wasn’t… entirely unaware of certain things, well, he wasn’t exactly familiar with them either. And the simple mention made him surprisingly uncomfortable all the sudden. And now the awkward feeling was mixed with the annoying suspicion that the vampire was subtly (or not so subtly) making fun of him again as payback for the things he’d said earlier.

“T-That’s ridiculous,” he replied, stuttering a bit but holding the other’s gaze. “Besides, you don’t have that kind of sweets…” Whatever on earth that meant. He wasn’t good with witty metaphors.

The other boy didn’t answer right away, but his eyes blinked ever-so-slowly, pupils widening until they looked more catlike than ever. “You are wrong, Alfred F. Jones,” he murmured softly. “ _We_ of all creatures have most of this gift… it’s how we lure our prey.” Arthur bit his bottom lip briefly, moistening it, before gently pressing his mouth against the apprentice’s, in the same time as his hand rose to caress the other’s cheek. And the American found himself responding in earnest, the free arm wrapping itself around the vampire’s impossibly slim waist and pulling him closer, pressing their bodies together.   

It took a bit until the blue-eyed blond could get a grip on himself and pull away, staring. He was a bit dizzy after their lips had parted ever-so-slightly and their breaths had mingled. “W-what are you doing? Don’t you care about…” he gulped, shaking his head,”…your soul?”

“My soul is already damned,” the vampire stated neutrally what was pretty much obvious.

“But mine isn’t!”

“Yet,” Arthur replied and the shadow of a cheeky smile made its way on his lips, now slightly plumper from the heated kissing.

The apprentice scowled, moving brusquely so that he was on top of the other again, pinning his wrists down in a tight grip. “You really are shameless!” he hissed through gritted teeth, glaring and realizing that he was actually far from strong enough to keep Arthur down. Or was he? Now that they were bound and the spells made him able to harness the other’s powers completely-

“We’re not bound! It’s not a bloody _bond_ , you simpleton!”  

And now Arthur was upset, (in a more hurt than angry fashion if he was to consider the hidden nuances) yet he was doing nothing to push him off or fight back, other than with words. The blue-eyed blond’s expression softened, his grip loosening and he chewed on his lip awkwardly, drawing a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred breathed. “I never thought… I-I don’t really know anything about you and it wasn’t right of me to say those things, or suspect you of helping Darvulia after she hurt you or…” The vampire rolled his eyes, looking away. “But, after all, you did say that you’d be ‘grateful to have a lover’, so naturally I concluded-“

“I was by no means thinking of _her_!” the green-eyed blond retorted sharply, then shifted to look the American in the eye again. “And I was certainly not thinking of _you_ , either,” he added bluntly.

The apprentice sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I was wrong and stupid and… what else would you want me to say? I apologize, okay? And you’re right, I cannot handle this mission, not without you and… and… after I saw last night, I can’t-… I need you, Arthur.”

The Englishman’s scowl faded somewhat and he moved a bit to the side, making some more room for the other boy in the coffin. “You can stay a bit longer, if you want. At least your body is warm…”

* * *

 

Alfred tucked the two pistols in his belt, still throwing wary glances at the wardrobe which had horrified him so the night before. He’d hastily opened it the moment he’d set foot back in his room, but it was empty. Whatever foul thing had possessed the object had lost its power in the daylight. But now that was the least of his problems, the cloudy winter weather had made it possible for ghouls to attack a nearby village and Braginski had decided that a hunt was in order. All men, including the bishop himself were to leave as soon as they were ready and the apprentice couldn’t help wondering if this wasn’t by any chance a trap set out by Erzsébet’s witch.   

Arthur was left to rest some more – Braginski had pointed that he wasn’t fully recovered after the holy water touching him – and the blue-eyed blond recalled how he’d carefully tucked in  the still slumbering vampire after waking up, even rubbing his stomach over the blanket and his hand involuntarily resting onto his hip for a moment. Only to hear grumbling and the coffin lid being forcefully slammed shut as soon as he turned to head for the door. He rolled his eyes at the memory, smiling a bit.

* * *

 

Alfred raced almost blindly through the trees and high bushes, ignoring the random, thin branches scratching at his face as he rushed in pursuit of his prey. It wasn’t a hard task, he told himself, because the ghoul left behind a foul-smelling trail of decay and it wasn’t quiet either, each of its heavy movements accompanied by low, beastly growls. But the American was once more amazed by the creature’s speed – the ghouls here were clearly different, much faster than the ones he’d fought so far, an obvious disadvantage.

The ghouls were strong, fast and more numerous than they’d expected, but as suspicious as that may have been, hadn’t done much damage into the village itself. As he’d feared, it looked like they’d been waiting for someone to try and fight them – namely the bishop and his men. The fight had been fierce, leaving several of the brothers wounded, but eventually they’d overcome and slain most of the beasts. Alfred had discovered the last one hiding in a deserted barn while the others were busy piling up the carcasses in a hastily dug pit and set them on fire, and had decided he wouldn’t let it escape.

He was doing a rather foolish thing now though, that much the young apprentice was aware of – it was getting quite dark and the bishop, Heracles and the others had been left behind, so if the escaping ghoul were to prove itself hard to bring down or if there were more of them hidden in the forest, then he would have been in serious trouble. Suddenly, the blue-eyed blond found himself breaking into a moonlight-bathed clearing, where several worn paths of hardened ground seemed to entwine.

There was no sign of the ghoul and only a light swish could be heard through the leaves, but the low, steady growls of the creature had been replaced by several ones, more menacing, more animal sounding. Both hands on his guns, Alfred glanced around panting, only to see several pairs of glowing, yellow eyes appear gradually from the bushes. Wolves.

“Oh, God…” he murmured as the large, dark-furred beasts began to emerge in the open, closing in on him. He would only be able to fire a couple of shots and maybe take down two before the rest would jump him and rip off his throat. A cold sweat broke on his brow on top of the one from the effort and thumbs slowly pulled back the hammers of the twin pistols. Maybe the gunfire would scare them away…?

A more pronounced growl, which rose above the others was suddenly heard and the boy turned brusquely, coming face to face with a huge white wolf, probably the pack leader. The yellow eyes were fixed on him with malice as the creature bared its long sharp canines, looking ready to lunge for the kill. The blond simply knew that the beast would be upon him before he could even raise his arm and fire. 

“H-Holy Mother of God…”

“Strigoi, back!” a small voice called and the wolf instantly turned around, his growl fading into a submissive whimper. 

Alfred saw a little boy with unruly brown hair and wrapped in an old, worn leather coat stepping into the light, a light smile upon his face as he reached out and his tiny hand sunk into the thick fur of the white wolf. The apprentice gasped, suddenly noticing that the boy’s eyes had a striking red shade and a peculiar glow.

“I’m sorry, sir, should have watched them better,” the child said in a strangely accented voice. “Big brother says no wolves in the house, he says they stink of wet dog. Doesn’t like them at all, no.”

“W-who are you, child?! And… should you be out in the woods at this hour? It’s dangerous!” the blond asked, realising somewhere in the back of his mind that he was probably asking a stupid question. A kid who could keep a pack of wolves under his control was unlikely to be in any sort of danger. No, if anyone was currently in danger, it was him.

The boy waved his oversized sleeve dismissively and smiled, showing pearly white teeth, a bit on the sharp side.”Oh, I am Andrei. And nothing to worry about, I grew up around here, I know these woods!” he said cheerfully. “But you should go back now, your friends are looking for you!”

Alfred looked back towards the general direction of the village –or the one he assumed to be the right one – focusing his hearing and indeed catching a vague sound of voices calling for him. Then he turned back to the weird child, but Andrei still stood there, smiling.

“By the way, Mr. American, I like your guns!” the brown-haired boy chirped.”And big brother says good luck with your hunting, but you must be careful, there are some who don’t wish you well and their eyes are ever watchful.”

With that, the child turned on his heel and walked away, with the wolves in tow, while the blue-eyed boy was left staring and shuddering slightly, unable to draw proper breath as he dropped down on his knees, guns slipping from his hands.


	10. Chapter 10

_The air was still. All the birds had strangely ceased their careless singing and no wind moved the dark green blades of the sugar plants. Alfred glanced curiously, first towards the big house and then back at the plantation, but there was no one, all the people seemed to have vanished as well. Small hands fisted helplessly in the rough fabric of his trousers as the boy waited, unsettled by the eerie silence. He stared down at the crossroad of dusty paths under his feet and sighed, wandering what he was supposed to do, his chest feeling tight for some unknown reason._

" _Alfred! Where are you?"_

_The sudden calling had the boy whip his head around towards the small cottage visible among some thick oak trees, the white walls striking against the dark-brown bark. He glanced at the smiling woman waiting on the doorstep, both her hands outstretched in greeting as she saw him._

_Mother! Yes, it was her! And he wanted to go back to her, so badly, have her arms wrap tightly around his small body and chase away all the evil of this world, but the sight of the house made him hesitate – as if something bad had happened there, something he feared, or… But it didn't matter, mother was waiting!_

_The blond boy started up the cobblestoned path, smiling in turn at the brunette woman in the white chiffon dress tied with a blue ribbon._

" _Mother! I'm coming!" he panted cheerfully, rushing in her direction, but a pair of arms appeared from nowhere caught him suddenly and Alfred let out a soft yelp as he was lifted up, his small feet leaving the ground. His fist clenched in an attempt to struggle, before realising the man holding him up in his arms was none other than his vampire charge._

" _Arthur?! What are you doing here?! Let me go, I want to go to mother!" the American cried, punching his shoulder._

_But the older boy wasn't paying him any attention for the moment, his cold gaze fixed on the woman still waiting on the doorstep. The blue-eyed blond looked at her too and was puzzled to notice her smile from earlier turned into a disdainful grin. A strange, foreign gleam was now in her dark eyes, which had no more kindness about them._

" _I won't let you take him!" Arthur said harshly, his gaze narrowing dangerously._

_She laughed. "As if you could stop me, you stupid little boy…"_

* * *

Alfred sat up in bed, eyes wide as he woke abruptly, only to discover the Englishman perched on the side of the bed, an ill-humored expression on his face as he glanced at the other boy.

"How bothersome, now I even have to fish you out of your bad dreams," he stated bluntly before the apprentice could say anything or ask what he was doing out of his basement chamber when he should have been resting.

"But why did you…? My mother-"

"Alfred, you _don't remember_ your mother." Arthur rolled his eyes in annoyance, leaning forward slightly. "The woman you keep dreaming about is Darvulia, that was how she looked when she was young, she's only trying to frighten and torment you." He snorted, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. "Besides, if you knew _anything_ , you'd actually figure out that a woman with hair and eyes as black as hers could never have given birth to a child as blond and blue-eyed as you."

But the American only curled back tightly under the covers as the sweat down his back was cooling off and leaving him cold, avoiding the vampire's gaze and wishing nothing but to get away from it all, simply escape all the stuff he was unable to comprehend anymore. And just get away from the pain.

"Just don't… say those things!" he muttered. "It's easy for you to see everything in cold blood, but my mother was everything to me, even if I don't remember how she looked like! She was all I ever had! It's not as if you don't know my situation, as if you don't know _what_ _I am_!"

Of course, this was probably one of the main reasons for which the vampire looked down on him - Alfred pondered morosely - along with his lack of high social status. The Englishman may have been an orphan himself, but at least he wasn't an illegitimate child, shunned away by his own father in order to be kept from inconveniencing his wife and wedlock children in any way. He'd even been forced to take up a different name entirely, for God's sake, to become _William Stone_ – a man with no past and no kin, only existing to serve.

He must have cried himself back to sleep, but the transition had been unnoticeable, at any rate. For this time the apprentice knew with certainty that he was dreaming, and said dream was far more vivid than all the others from before. He squinted, peering at the bright sunlight pouring in through a tall window ornate with colored glass, now open to leave fresh spring air drift into the room, carried by a light breeze which made the soft, silk drapes dance.

A swift, awed glance around the elegant yet simply decorated room made the blond conclude that it was a bedroom, the large four-poster bed with pristine white sheets occupying most of the space. But a bit further away from where he was currently standing, hands awkwardly stuffed in his trouser pockets, was a small vanity table with a mirror, facing the rest of the room. A gasp escaped Alfred's lips, his eyes growing wide in confusion as he noticed the woman seated on the small stool, brushing her long, luscious chestnut hair and humming to herself as she did so, gazing dreamily into the mirror.

The American let out a shaky breath, eyes glued to the woman – in fact she turned to be a young girl – as she stood up, briefly smoothing the folds of her gown before she walked up to him, slowly, with absolute grace. A light smile adorned her beautiful, porcelain-white face and her large green eyes were bright with some unspoken joy. A pale hand rose to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, just under the rosebud the girl wore in her hair, head tilting slightly to the side as she took the apprentice in from head to toe.

"You are here, my love," she said softly, not quite with excitement but with a sort of odd relief in her voice.

The blond blinked, resisting the urge to shy away when the side of his face was cupped by a cool hand. "M-My… love?" he asked, tongue darting out briefly to lick dry lips as the boy gulped.

"I have been waiting for you, Alfred, for a very long time now… It has been ages while I've been here, all alone, all this time."

Slender fingers traveled up his chest, over the rough fabric of the shirt, to finally rest on his shoulders as the girl looked up at him, hopeful. It was _her_ , Alfred suddenly knew, the realization nearly causing him to jerk back in horror. Countess Erzsebet Héderváry stood there, in broad daylight, right in front of him, looking nothing like he'd expected of the woman who had inflicted so much terror upon the land. And she had brought him here, inside her castle, in her very bedchambers… to what end?

"Why would you say such a thing? I-I know who you are!"

Erzsebet smiled, showing pearly white teeth. "Why not? I always speak my mind, as wrong as that may be of a woman… and we have a saying here – 'what the eyes see the heart will ask for' – and my eyes have seen you, Alfred F. Jones." Her hand traveled down again, palm pressing flat against his chest. "Oh my, your heart is beating so fast! If only it was beating for me… could it be that you do not know of what gift I could make you?"

The American blinked, managing to pull away this time and step away from this accursed woman, who was beyond mesmerizing despite the abomination of her very existence. "I-It's not true…" he stuttered, throwing a hurried glance around, looking for a way out of the room. But before he could even think of heading towards the door, the vampire blocked his way, making him back against the wall. "W-What about Roderich E-Edelstein? Is he not the man you love?"

Erzsebet's smile faded and she shook her head, looking pained all the sudden. "You know nothing about Roderich… My love was wasted on him, he treated me like a broken toy one tosses away after it's ruined! He is not like you! If only you let me love you instead…" As she said that, her arms went around his neck, pulling his head down and hungry lips met the blond's in a passionate kiss, with a will to devour.

* * *

The bed creaked slightly as someone sat on the edge of it and the apprentice opened his eyes, blinking when met with bright light. The vampire had returned – apparently he'd been outside recently for his clothes had the distinctive scent of winter air – and was observing him thoughtfully. Alfred glanced outside, at the pale rays of winter sun visible through the bare branches of the trees.

"What time is it?"

"Well past noon. Father Braginski thought you should rest thoroughly after the last fight, so they let you sleep some more."

The blue-eyed boy frowned, pushing himself to sit up, leaning back against the headboard. "I had another weird dream after I fell asleep again…" he muttered, licking his lips nervously as he looked up at the other. "But I suppose you already know of it, don't you?"

The vampire sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes. Good one, that. I sincerely hope you didn't buy it though, because obviously there is no way she-…" Arthur paused, his expression softening as the apprentice sunk back under the sheets and curled up in a tight ball. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like… uh… like it's got anything to do with you, "he added, leaning over and draping an arm over the American's exposed shoulder. "It's just that, if she had really wanted to replace Roderich Edelstein, she would have had plenty of time and opportunities in the last hundred years or so. She was only trying to deceive you…"

His words made sense, of course, but Alfred felt horribly hurt nevertheless. It was as if the countess and her witch had found his secret sore spot and they were using it to torment him. To permanently remind him that he was to be rejected and not cared about by a single soul in the whole world. It was a terrible feeling of despair, as if drowning in some deep, murky water while having nothing to grab on.

"It was all lies, Jones, just a different strategy," the other boy said, fingers slowly rubbing his upper arm, "But the purpose is to make you give up before the fight, they must have thought to keep the stirring to a minimum or something…"

"So why didn't you 'fish' me out of this one too?" the blue-eyed blond retorted morosely, nose still buried in the pillow. "Why did you let her… do those things?"

Arthur snorted. "I was out to eat for a bit, alright? Can't keep watching you all the time and besides, I thought you could handle it."

_Handle_ it? The apprentice sat up brusquely, glaring at the Englishman. "How can you say that, Arthur?! Could you handle being touched and kissed by someone as if they _loved_ you? Even if you knew it was a lie… But could you?"

The green, catlike orbs blinked and the smaller blond looked uncertain, apparently caught in another one of his rare but genuine moments of vulnerability. He scowled, pulling away and crossing his arms defensively. Suddenly, it occurred to Alfred that having this discussion was probably equally hurtful for the both of them and he should not have asked such a thing.

"It's an absolutely ridiculous question," the vampire replied a moment later, dryly. "It's obvious she was faking it, I couldn't fathom anything easier for her to do. Like I already explained before, that's how we lure prey-"

"Yeah?! Have _you_ ever done it? If it's so easy, then do it, show me! Kiss me _as if you loved me_! If it's so easy, it means you should be able to fake it too, even with someone like me!" The American gulped, long held back tears welling from his eyes as the accursed words spilled from his lips against his will.

"This is wrong, for you to ask this of me, as if I had any life left to live and as if this was possible," Arthur whispered softly, hands on either side of the other boy's face and thumbs wiping away the bitter tears. "Idiot! How can you believe any of this? How can you think that you are the one _undeserving_?" Then he leaned in and brushed his lower lip teasingly against Alfred's mouth before capturing it in a gentle kiss. Only this time his tongue slipped in through the other boy's parted lips, eliciting a choked moan as the American pulled him down on the bed on top of him, eager to bring their bodies closer.

The open-mouthed, now sloppy lip-locking went on for a little bit and the apprentice only realised what he was doing when his own fingers sneaked under the hem of the vampire's shirt, encountering the cool, velvet-smooth skin of his sides. He blushed furiously, pulling away and instead burying his nose in the crook of the green-eyed blond's neck, arms still encircling his lithe frame, unwilling to let go just yet.

"Is this a lie also?" he murmured, partly out of breath and barely daring to make himself audible.

Arthur only tsked in reply, but made no move to pull away. Good God, he was such a pain! But it had only been a kiss, how sinful could a mere kiss be after all? And he'd only needed it to wash away the memory of Erzsebet and her cruel attempt at seduction. Now with that gone, Alfred figured that he could focus on the mission once more and there were still a lot of unanswered questions, one in particular lingering in the back of his mind.

"Arthur, who was the boy in the woods?"

'You must be careful, there are some who don't wish you well and their eyes are ever watchful'. The creepy little boy with the wolves apparently knew about their task and he couldn't help feeling cold shudders running down his spine every time he recalled the ominous warning.

"Ah, the boy in the woods…" the Englishman said thoughtful, still caressing his hair. "Well, someone you shouldn't have met, actually. Funny how there's so many people around here that one had better not meet," he added with a light snort. "Makes you wonder what the hell is wrong with this land." Suddenly, steps were heard outside in the corridor and the vampire sat up quickly, sliding off the bed and smoothing his clothing and hair. "Time to get up now, Jones. There's someone I've decided that we must speak to. At once," he stated, brusquely determined. Saying that, the smaller blond wheeled around and was out of the room in the blink of an eye, slamming the door in his wake.


	11. Chapter 11

Alfred flinched and nearly stumbled as a dry branch cracked under his feet, that and the sounds around being the only vague indication of where they currently were (namely somewhere in the forest). Without providing any other explanation aside from that things were quite getting out of hand – when had they been in hand, he wondered? – the vampire had hastily dragged him out of the house and insisted on taking him to see someone. Blindfolded.

“You could at least tell me where we’re going! Arthur!” he protested, but the other boy had a firm grip on his hand, pulling him forward relentlessly.

“I can’t tell you anything yet, Jones, only that we should do this at best before nightfall. So you might as well give up,” the Englishman offered bluntly. “I can only hope that we’ll get the help we need with our mission…”

The apprentice tsked. “I’m not that dense, Arthur, I know who we’re going to see, I can perfectly put two and two together. The strange little boy with the wolves mentioned his older brother watching my hunt with interest, so it must be him, right? The older brother, I mean. He’s some sort of sorcerer too, isn’t he?”

“Then you would do well to keep your head down and your mouth shut while we’re at it. I don’t want the prince to feel offended by your rude manners… that if he will speak to us at all.”

The American scowled, but decided against retorting or asking further questions for now. He would see what was about to happen anyway, although a feeling of unease was currently upon him. He didn't like mysteries and the fact that his charge was keeping him in the dark for whatever reason wasn’t exactly helping.

* * *

 

They kept pushing on for a while – he couldn't tell for how long for he’d lost all count and track of their steps – before his companion slowed down and Alfred was finally allowed to catch his breath and take off the blindfold. Having all his senses restored was a bit of relief, however it was short-lived as he realized that the bleak winter afternoon was already getting darker. The apprentice glanced curiously around the clearing they were currently in, noticing nothing but the surrounding forest until the vampire pointed to a darkened stone wall visible between the bare branches. They started off in the indicated direction, passing under a moss-covered arch and finding themselves in a deserted enclosure, at the back of which the narrow door of a building of sorts could be observed. Thick, bizarre mist surrounded the wall of said building, effectively concealing it.

“The boy’s brother is a Valah prince, one of the last if you believe it,” Arthur quickly explained. “That being said, seeing how we’re both foreigners, he’s displeased of our being here on principle. That’s why we must be very careful not to upset him further, or we’ll never get out of here!”

“A _Valah prince_? Is he also a va-?“

“He’s adverse to Erzsebet, that’s all we need to consider,” the Englishman cut him off, pulling at his hand impatiently.

Well, that was some reassurance, for walking into yet another monster’s den willingly. Alfred knew he was unlikely to ever forget to sheer horror he’d experienced inside Roderich Edelstein’s mansion upon the encounter with his ‘caretaker’ and feared that this wouldn’t be much better. But then why was the other boy so hell-bent on doing it? Unless – the apprentice’s mind worked fast – Arthur really thought that the Valah prince could perhaps free him of Bishop Braginski’s spells… Oh, no!

“He can’t,” the green-eyed blond said dryly, before his thoughts could go any further down that path. “So you might as well put your mind at ease in that respect.”

The American chewed on his lip nervously, realising that he’d probably hurt Arthur again with his suspicions, even if he had no particular reason to trust the little vampire. Even if he’d confronted Darvulia and made it clear that he wouldn't let the witch take him. And his child self had felt so safe in his arms, protected and cared for, for the first time in a very long while.

“Why are _you_ here?”

The sudden question made the apprentice snap out of his musings and alertly squint in the dark, finally coming to notice Andrei standing on the doorstep, staring at the two of them inquisitively. As much as he tried, he couldn’t tell whether there was any trace of hostility in the child’s demeanor, any sign that they weren’t welcome.

“Please, forgive our intrusion, young lord,” the Englishman spoke cautiously, taking a bow, “But we find ourselves in dire need of seeking the counsel of the Master of this place. Will he see us?”

Andrei nodded slowly, motioning with his head for them to follow him inside as he turned on his heels and disappeared in the obscurity inside the building. Indeed, it was so dark that Alfred could barely make out what had been an elegant checkered marble floor, now covered in dirt and dead leaves. He followed the pattern as his charge continued to grip his hand and pull him forward, until they found themselves inside a large hall of sorts, illuminated by the fading daylight pouring in through a glassless window.  

The American noticed a throne in the obscure back of the empty hall and a figure curled up on it, their legs apparently held to their chest in a childish fashion. A pair of dark red eyes was trained intently on the two of them as they walked in, the vampire making him stop at a respectful distance and forcing him down on his knees with a particularly rough yank of his hand.

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, shyly even, hands fisted in his lap. “My lord, um… I believe you know why we’re here…”

 “Yes, I have been anticipating it for some time now,” a voice spoke softly as the figure stirred, causing Alfred to flinch, but the other vampire had no intention to leave his seat. For now…

 “So what do you think of our pursuit then?”

The apprentice gulped, watching how the man in front of them – if ‘man’ was what he should have been called – shifted again, taking his time before answering. Was he really adverse to the countess, as Arthur assumed? Why would he be, anyway? _Because the Héderváry family and their lot have been keeping their boot upon this originally Valah land for centuries now,_ his charge mentally explained, answering his question. _Ever since, the Valahs have been looked down upon by everyone, because of them._

“Well, we have been pondering upon its chances of success, to be honest,” the prince said at last, his words still soft and unhurried. “We know that others have tried to solve this… dismal inconvenience before and were met with a horrid end. So we do not see why you should be any different. Is there any ace up your sleeve that I’m not aware of?”

“If it’s indeed a _dismal inconvenience_ as you say, then why haven’t _you_ done anything?! You could-” Alfred suddenly retorted, quite loudly, his mouth taking it way ahead of his brain. His words were cut short when the Englishman threw a swift punch into his side, making him double over in pain, such that his forehead nearly touched the floor.

“Shut up, you!” Arthur hissed angrily.

The figure snorted. “Haven’t told him, have you, Arthur? As incredibly bothersome as that may be, we cannot kill our own kind.”

What?! The American blinked in disbelief, a cold shudder running down his spine at the thought. And Father Braginski probably didn’t know of this either, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so convinced of their chances of success! And all this time, Arthur had kept his mouth shut about it, probably just so that he wouldn’t get a stake driven through his heart in the same fashion as his uncle… And this time the little bastard remained silent in his mind, offering no explanation, although he must have clearly read his thoughts.

“Actually, my lord, we were counting on our ability to outsmart the countess and defeat her ghoul servants… employing Father Braginski’s extensive knowledge of black magic and the skills and experience of this young man here present… but we ran into an unexpected obstacle, namely the sorceress Darvulia, whom I personally believed to be long dead. So, to speak plainly, my lord, we are here to seek your counsel and possibly… help.”

The other vampire laughed. “It sort of sounds to me like you don’t have any plan. That, paired with your inability to handle Darvulia on your own… do I need to say it out loud why that is, Arthur Kirkland?”

“Why… that is?”

“It’s because you don’t drink human blood anymore. The animal blood doesn’t feed you well enough. And why the hell do you put milk in your tea, are you crazy? Real men drink wine not tea anyway, just grow up already…”

The Valah prince’s tone was clearly teasing and despite everything, Alfred fought back a giggle at the thought that someone was making fun of the stuck-up little Englishman for a change, the green-eyed blond now scowling openly as he stared stubbornly in his lap.

“My lord, we are hopeful because both the countess and her witch have actually gone to unusual lengths to deter young Jones here from his purpose. The countess even offered… to make him the dark gift as she did her lover.  However deceitful that might have been, why would she have done it unless there was a real reason for concern on her behalf?”

This time the prince stood from his throne, his movements slow and predatory as he sauntered closer, stepping into the dim light. Just like Arthur, he was very youthful looking, strawberry blond hair falling just below his chin and brushing against the dark red velvet overcoat he was wearing. Long, sharp fingernails dug slightly into Alfred’s cheek as the vampire leaned in and tilted his face up to get a better look. Crimson bore into light blue as the Valah glanced deeply into the apprentice’s eyes, as if attempting to prod his very soul.

“A _reason for concern_?” The prince’s mouth curled up into a genuinely amused grin, sharp white fangs showing. “Seriously Arthur, you don’t really think that. You most likely don’t know, but many books on… carnal love speak about there not being such a thing as ‘something new’ to keep one sufficiently entertained for a long while, but there is always ‘someone new’. And one does not need be a clairvoyant to figure that the Austrian with a stick up his backside must have been pretty boring in the long term. I am quite sure that this lovely ‘happily ever after’ of theirs did not entail faithfulness on behalf of a woman as passionate as Erzsebet.”    

The American found himself blushing at the prince’s words - another shameless creature apparently – but Arthur’s annoyance was un-dissimulated. “So what, you are saying that she _likes_ him?” he spat, cautious respect almost entirely gone from his voice.

“Oh my, here I am trying to explain to you what’s going on and you take it personally,” the Valah chuckled at the other’s irritation. “But don’t worry, she’d probably only want the boy in her bed before drinking him dry.” But then the prince straightened his back, letting go of the blue-eyed blond’s chin and turned away. “I will tell you what – I have decided to give you a chance to solve this… issue once and for all. So here’s how it goes: as reluctant as we might be of taking anyone’s life, perhaps the sorceress Darvulia has earned it. You, Arthur Kirkland, will take care of the ghouls and the other servants of the Héderváry family, while you, little church dog, will find a way to slay the countess and her Austrian. That is the deal I’m offering to you. However… should you get any other ideas, such as to tell anyone about me, or even try to come after me, you will all perish. I will spare no living man, do you understand, church dog?”

Alfred nodded instantly at the icy tone, gulping, while for some reason the Englishman continued to sulk, stubbornly silent.

“Ah, there is one more thing,” the prince said after a pause.”As you know already, the countess’ slayer must carry upon themselves a handful of dirt from the grave of her first sin. But what you do not know is that her first sin wasn’t the first servant girl she drank dry after she was turned. There was someone else, long before that, when she was just a girl.”

The American flinched at the words, resisting the sudden impulse to grab his charge’s hand and hold it tightly. Just how monstrous was this woman if she had killed, even in her youth? He almost didn’t want to find out.

“She had done something terrible and blamed someone else for it. It was a boy from the German community, and he was tortured on the wheel until he died. _He_ was her first sin. You will have to find his grave.”

“What boy?! Do you know his name?” the blue-eyed blond hastily asked.

Valentin tsked. “As if I cared for all the sausage makers! But in the Mayor’s Office there is a record with all the public executions from the last four hundred years and there aren’t so many Germans around here anyway. You’ll probably find him easily.”

“T-thank you,… my lord. You are most kind,” the apprentice said, nodding curtly and finally moving to stand up. His knees hurt from the hard floor and the protruding cold had begun seeping through his clothing, chilling him to the bone.

“Indeed,” Arthur supplied. “We are very grateful, my lord, for your help.”

 He stood smoothly, with another deep bow, and gripped his companion’s elbow, guiding him towards the exit. For which the taller blond couldn’t be more grateful in turn, as he could hardly wait to get away from that place as soon as possible. Not to mention, in the end things had gone much better than he could have ever imagined. At least, if they could trust what the prince had told them and if he was going to keep his word.

“Arthur… “ the Valah said suddenly, in a bit of a sing-song voice, as they were at the door. “I know what you are doing. It is a mistake.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Arthur!”

The apprentice glanced uneasily at the archive clerk who still stood in the middle of the room, eyes glazed and looking sort of dumbstruck. He had been standing there for the past half an hour and keeping an eye on him in the man’s condition was rather disturbing.

“Now what, Jones?”

“We shouldn’t be here. And we certainly shouldn’t have done this!”

Green eyes looked up from the thick, large tome the Englishman was currently leafing through, each page stirring an impressive amount of dust as it was flipped. “What, bewitching that fool? It was necessary. How else could we find out-” He paused suddenly, thin fingers trailing to the top of the current page as he leaned over it, squinting. “Oh, look! Gilbert Beilschmidt, fifteen years of age, executed for setting fire on… well I suppose this name here stands for some official building of sorts,” Arthur said. “We found him! It has to be him, there wasn’t any other German executed in the past two hundred years.”

“But… what if it doesn’t mean anything? How do you know we can trust the Valah prince?” Alfred drew a deep breath. “I mean think of it, Arthur! He seemed to know the countess, to _know her well_! Why do you think that is?”

The vampire slammed the book shut with a blunt expression on his face. “Oh, please, not this rubbish again! It’s a lot of politics involved, actually, but it does make sense, every single bit of it, I promise you. Now come.”

They walked out of the dim-lit archive hall, the smaller blond snapping his fingers under the clerk’s nose to free him from the magic-induced trace. Once out of the dark, mold-eaten building of the Mayor’s Office, the apprentice felt somewhat relieved to be outside in open air, the people of the town going about their business as usual in a perfect appearance of normality. Only the enormous stone walls of the Héderváry castle towered over the town, dwarfing the brick houses and being a constant reminder that the nightmare was still upon them.

“You know, I told the bishop that we would go into town to inspect the castle settings for a safe way in,” he reminded his companion, pointing to the wide stone bridge arching from the road over the murky water of the moat and to the sturdy wooden gate doubled with iron grid. Two armed men were standing guard on the other side, at the foot of the twin gate towers.

“Clearly not that one, since you mentioned,” the Englishman replied, pulling up the collar of his coat. “We’ll get to it later. For now we have to find Gilbert Beilschmidt’s grave, in the cemetery of the executed. Apparently it’s on the other side of the town, near the woods.”

Alfred fell silent as they sped up in said direction, chewing his lip in anguish. God, he just didn’t, _couldn’t_ see it happening! For one, the castle looked absolutely impregnable and what if – even given that they hadn’t been actually sent on a wild goose chase – what if the countess or her witch were watching them right now, or breaking into his mind and keeping themselves updated to whatever plan they were able to work out, such that it would be all hopeless?

* * *

 

It was about midday, but the atmosphere was as bleak as could be on an early winter day, fog hanging low above the ground especially as they left the last houses behind. Alfred’s hands were stuck deep inside his pockets as he constantly surveyed their surroundings, wary at every step.

“Well, this is certainly a dark mood, so you might as well tell me the whole story, don’t you think?” he said at last. “You know, the one with a lot of politics involved, but which makes sense to the last bit regardless?”

Arthur tsked. “Right, I don’t even know where to start, but I suppose…”

“Why don’t you tell me about your family?” the American said out of the blue, not really knowing why that particular question had come up on his lips. And only then it dawned on him that it was probably something the other boy didn’t want to talk about.

The smaller blond scowled, pulling the coat tighter around himself as he stared at the path ahead. “Not much to say about it, they hardly made any difference in the unfolding of events. My grandfather was the first Englishman to set foot on this land, as far as I know. He was a mercenary in the service of the Héderváry family and he was rewarded with land and title for his loyalty. The loyalty part died with him though, my uncle was of the opinion that the Héderváry lord was claiming as tax most of what he made off the land anyway, it was becoming less and less profitable. But that’s an old story and everyone’s dead. Anyway, looks like this is the place…”

A small, rusty gate still clung to the remnants of a long-collapsed enclosure made of simple, rough wood, for which even some tree trunks had been used as joining points. The place wasn’t exactly small but looked awfully decrepit, dead weeds and leaves covering the ground in a thick layer. One could barely make out the decayed or rust-eaten crosses which had once marked the tombs.

“Oh, bloody hell…” the vampire grumbled, pushing past the gate which gave way with a depressing creak. “Now this is awfully helpful…” he added, waving his hand over the expanse of space they would have to cover. Or rather… uncover. But the observation did not seem to deter him, as he knelt beside a random grave and began pulling away the tangle of weeds topping the ground around what was left of the cross.

Alfred looked around, advancing into the abandoned cemetery with slow, random steps. For some reason he had found himself curious of the place, as if the burial ground of the ones punished by death for whatever crimes, the resting place of those damned souls would have held something oddly fascinating. But then his gaze was drawn to the one thing he would have never expected to see in this grim place, a faint twinkle catching this peripheral vision.  Turning in that direction, the American discovered a small lantern, alit with a single white candle on the inside, burning above a small tomb sheltered under a thick pine tree. Unlike the others, the ground had been cleaned of any weeds and the outline was marked with bricks. The iron cross was rusty at the joints, but still stood straight and was in relatively good shape. He leaned in, reaching and brushing his fingers over the inscription.

“Hey! Arthur! Come here!”

The smaller blond scurried over, while the blue-eyed boy knelt, watching the small white flowers dusted over the dark ground in wonder.

“T-this is Gilbert Beilschmidt’s grave…”

The vampire tsked. “Now why are you crying?”

Alfred’s fingers shot up to his face at the question, realising that his cheeks were wet. “It’s b-because… look at this! His grave is so well-kept, l-like someone’s taking care of it! They even brought fresh flowers!” he stuttered, overwhelmed by emotion.

“The German community is pretty close-knit, they care a lot about their own. I’m not surprised they must have tended to his grave.”

“Yes, but then… he was executed, so… if they show so much respect then they must know that he was innocent!”

At least that was proof enough as to the truth of the Valah prince’s words. But Gilbert Beilschmidt must have been innocent of the crime he’d been accused of and his people knew it, even though… apparently they couldn’t save him.

The Englishman patted him gently on the back, nodding. “Yes, well… The countess’s family has killed a lot of innocent people.”

* * *

 

They’d failed to find a safe entrance into the castle per say – in the bushes and thick vegetation surrounding the moat there was what looked like the mouth of a tunnel, but there was no way of saying where it lead or if the passage wasn’t in fact a dead end. Father Braginski was of the opinion that it must have been part of a secret escape route or a way to get in supplies in case of a siege. Either way, it must have led somewhere inside the castle and the Russian doubted that they’d taken it out of use. That being said, they would have to go back again the next day and find out more.

It was probably a bad idea – not that he had any _other_ ideas – Alfred thought, as he sat perched on the edge of his bed, cleaning his twin guns. Most likely, the underground darkness of the tunnel was the perfect place for ghouls to lurk, safely shielded from sunlight. And if they fought the ghouls – even assuming that Arthur could deal with a large number of them – wouldn’t that have alerted the countess of their ‘supposedly secret’ attempt? All these worries were eating him inside, on top of being unable to bring himself to trust the Valah prince’s promise. And there was also something else he wanted to know…

“Arthur, what did he mean? The vampire prince, when he said he knew what you were doing and that it was a mistake.”

The Englishman simply flipped the page of the book he was reading, with an absent air. “Well, you know… I already told you, he dislikes the fact that we’re here,” he replied, obviously doing his best to sound indifferent.

“And?”

“And he doesn’t think that I should… well… he doesn’t think that I should care for you. That is to say, I do have an obligation to do so as per the deal currently keeping me alive, but… he meant that I shouldn’t _genuinely_ care about you.” The green-eyed boy shifted awkwardly in his seat by the window, gripping his book tighter. “Also, I’m sorry that he called you a ‘church dog’, it sounded rather awful, but you may have noticed how everyone around here is sort of stuck up…” he added quickly.

Alfred fought back an amused smile. “Yes, I have.” He looked up again, trying to figure out whether it had been just an impression or the vampire was indeed a bit tense, likely because he was keeping something from him. Again. “He thinks you should drink my blood, doesn’t he?”

The smaller blond blinked in irritation, frowning at the book. “Don’t say such nonsense.”

“But he’s right. You are weaker than the other vampires because you have been deprived of human blood.” The American put his guns and the cloth on the nightstand and pushed himself up on the bed, sighing. “And it is a mistake, because after all we should make the most of your powers if we want to have a real advantage in this fight.”

“Well the binding spells impede it, so there’s nothing I can-“

“You could drink _my_ blood. You are bound to me and the spells prevent you from preying upon humans, but if I allow it… don’t see why this wouldn’t work.”

The Englishman put the book down slowly and stood, abandoning his watch seat by the window, and came to sit beside the other boy. “Look, Jones, you don’t know what you are saying,” he said softly. “It is… unpleasant, to say the least. Besides, are you sure you haven’t fallen under some bad influence of sorts? You shouldn’t listen to the prince.” Then he scowled. “Anyway, don’t you remember what that frog priest has got into your head?”

“ _Frog_?” Father Bonnefoy was a rather handsome man, certainly didn’t look like a frog, but the blue-eyed blond smiled anyway at how Arthur had said it, shaking his head, before leaning in and pulling the other boy suddenly into his lap, wrapping his arms around his impossibly slim waist. “Arthur, I know it will be… bad, but I’m not afraid. I want you to do it,” he said determinedly. “You must, if we are to stand any chance!”

Arthur hesitated, drawing a sharp breath. “This isn’t happening,” he said seriously, looking down at him intently. “Say it, Jones.”

“T-This isn’t happening…”

The vampire breathed out and gulped, licking his lips briefly before leaning down to reach the side of the apprentice’s neck. A soft moan escaped him as his mouth touched Alfred’s skin, the other fisting his hands into the sheets as he braced himself for the pain. But when it came, it wasn’t half as bad as he’d expected, unfocused as he was between the feeling of sharp teeth breaking into his flesh and Arthur’s nervous grip on his shoulders. The blue-eyed blond found himself pushed gently against the headboard as both the grip and the pain gradually loosened and faded, and before he knew it, it was over. Above him, the Englishman was now panting slightly, eyes half-lidded and diligently licking the remnants of his meal off his lips.

“Arthur…” the other boy murmured dizzily. “Do you feel any-…?”

He’d meant to say ‘change’, but never got the chance to, because the smaller blond pressed his mouth against his, nearly taking his breath away. Small, dainty hands cupped the sides of his face as the other boy continued his ministrations, even more heatedly. And then the same hands descended shyly, tracing the outline of his collarbones before stopping at his shirt buttons. They were undone slowly, teasingly as the vampire fidgeted a bit, rolling his hips.

Alfred gasped at the touch of cool fingertips onto his heated skin, it felt ticklish and oddly… arousing. His own hands moved with a will of their own, fumbling clumsily to pull the other’s shirt from his trousers and slip underneath. 

“A-Arthur… did you…“the American felt himself blush profusely as he uttered the words,” d-did you read Heracles’ mind a-after he… y-you know…?”

The green-eyed boy pulled back a bit and chewed his lip, not a trace of color on his perfectly pale cheeks. “No. “Fangs dug a bit deeper onto his plump lower lip as he looked away. “Maybe…” Holy Mother of God, he was so shameless! And Alfred actually liked it.

Arthur leaned in again, lips brushing against the American’s ear. “Do you want to know what the Turk did?” he whispered, almost inaudibly, palm pressed flat against the apprentice’s taut stomach.

“Oh… God, no… w-what if-“

“They’re all sleeping, don’t worry.”

In reply, Alfred simply fumbled hurriedly with the other’s buttons and slid the bothersome shirt off his shoulders. Hands roamed shyly over the vampire’s pale skin, enjoying the feel of it, even if it was cold. Soon, he was completely taken by an odd sort of lustful drunkenness, all he knew were his senses and all his senses felt was Arthur. Before he knew it, they had ended up under the covers, skin on skin, while all of their clothing was lying messily on the floor. His lips were on the vampire’s neck, dotting every patch of skin with soft kisses, but he wanted, _needed_ more, so much more than the mere touching and the grinding of their bodies together. 

“Wait…” the green-eyed boy breathed, lifting one knee to his chest and reaching down between their bodies to guide him. “I-I think… like that…” His back arched instantly as the apprentice snapped his hips and a pained hiss escaped him, fingers digging into his lover’s back. “Ahhh, oww… n-no don’t… stop,” he murmured, before Alfred placed a soothing kiss on his panting lips. The taller blond picked up the pace as the boy underneath him began meeting his thrusts, pleading for him to move faster and go deeper between wanton moans.

“T-there… ah… there…” Arthur panted with his eyes closed, one hand getting hold of the other boy’s and guiding it between their bodies, to his own throbbing need. At length, the American collapsed, face buried in the crook of the smaller blond’s neck, his body still pulsing with the pleasure he should have never felt.

“Arthur… I think, oh God forgive me, I-I think that I love you.”


	13. Chapter 13

_“Arthur… I think, oh God forgive me, I-I think that I love you.”_

“Shut up.” The vampire was looking away, chewing absently on his bottom lip, even if his fingers were still resting on Alfred’s shoulder, tracing imaginary patterns on his lover’s skin. “I won’t have you speak such nonsense. This… was just a thing of the flesh. You will get over it.”

The words stabbed at the already sore spot in the blue-eyed boy’s heart, making him cringe in pain. His hands fisted helplessly in the sheets as he turned on his side, away from his charge and facing the wall. This too… a ‘thing of the flesh’, he’d said. But no love, never love. _Never_. The apprentice squeezed his eyes shut, crushing the bitter tears under his eyelids.

“He was right, the prince,” the Englishman said calmly, sitting up and reaching down to collect his garments from the floor. “I was already making a mistake in caring about you and now I’ve really screwed it, I’ve made everything so much worse.” He sighed, hands dropping limply in his lap. “But the harm wasn’t in me caring for you, but in making you care for _me_. After all… it’s not as if we didn’t know what will happen to me after this thing is finally done.”

Alfred’s eyes snapped open, widening as the pain was suddenly replaced by utter dread. He very nearly jumped up, turning and gripping the smaller blond’s arms from behind, pulling him back against his chest in a tight, almost desperate embrace. “Arthur, I won’t let them kill you!” the American hissed half-choking, burying his nose in the vampire’s hair. “I swear I won’t-“

“Jones, it was my uncle who killed me, a very long time ago. It just… cannot be undone. You can’t save me, there’s _nothing_ to save, you poor foolish boy, my life ended long before yours began. Besides, do you not see that everything about me – the way I look, the sound of my voice, the taste of my lips – everything is meant to draw you to me, to make you willingly surrender in the arms of doom? Behind all this beauty, all this charm there’s nothing but empty promises, because we all secretly long, crave and agonize about what our long lost lives could have been, and we cannot make anyone happy.”

The American simply shook his head in silence, refusing to accept it. Of course, he _knew_ that the other’s words were true, but still, he refused to believe that there wasn’t a way, _any_ way in which he could keep Arthur by his side, alive and unharmed, a way in which they would be allowed to soothe each other’s bitterness with genuine affection. 

“You must tell the bishop to send you back,” the green-eyed blond said suddenly. “I know he offered you this chance before, I don’t think he will object to it now. He will understand that-“

“What?!” The apprentice turned him around almost brutally, so that he could get a look at the vampire’s face as he scowled openly. “How can you say that?! You can’t possibly want us-… want _me_ to give up the fight now? Just after you said it was doable! Have you changed your mind so quickly?! And what about the deal with the prince?!”

But Arthur did not look worried by that prospect, only pained and the apprentice had gotten to know too well that expression of long hidden hurt and suffering the other boy allowed to surface at times. His eyes were sad and pleading even as small, dainty hands rose to cup his face and the Englishman shook his head, sighing, demeanor almost entirely out of character now.

“The prince will understand why I’m doing this and he has all the time in the world to wait for someone else to carry out this task! Just then, as he spoke those words, he was telling me to do it, Alfred. He was telling me to give up on you, to let you _live_!” Tears welled from the peridot eyes and streamed down the boy’s porcelain pale cheeks, his voice fading to a mere whisper. “Because it’s not fair, it’s not fair and nothing but death awaits you here if you stay! Please!”

Just like that, leave? After all he’d seen and found, he was supposed to run away, cowardly, just to save his own life?! Leave the bishop and the brothers unaided, willing as they were to rush to their own death at the hands of the monsters who lived in the stone palace and their minions? Live… surely Arthur treasured the idea of living because he was dead, but even after peering into his mind and dreams the vampire was unable to comprehend what it was like to live _his_ life. He could not understand that in truth the bastard Alfred F. Jones – or the apprentice William Stone – had nothing to live for.

“I have to go,” Arthur said bluntly, standing up from the bed, all traces of his previous emotion completely gone and replaced by his usual cold mood. “You should get some rest now, it’s very late-“

The American flinched instinctively and reached out for his hand. “No, stay with me!” he begged, but the vampire dodged his attempt, moving swiftly towards the door.

“I need to rest now too and I cannot sleep in a bed, I need my coffin. Beds are for the living,” he replied dryly.

* * *

 

For a rather long while, Alfred sat up in bed in silence, head bowed and hands resting limply in his lap, unable to shake the numbness taking over him after it was all said and done. All he could think of, as the conclusion hung over his entire being like an unfathomable burden, was that for whatever reason Arthur thought him helpless… and Arthur had said ‘no’ to him. And then, suddenly, suspicion rose again in his weary mind – what if the Valah prince had planned this, precisely to deter him from purpose? Maybe he had even uttered something with unspoken words to bring Arthur himself to obedience and have him thwart their efforts in this fashion! 

The apprentice raised his head, alert to his own thoughts, but the little vampire had said nothing since he’d left. Maybe he was asleep? Alfred doubted he was ‘listening’ right now, because it would have been an inconvenience if he did. Slowly, his feet found their way to the floor and he quickly put his clothes on. His body still felt somewhat numb, but the sudden resolution and newly found determination kept his limbs moving as the apprentice made his way as quietly as a shadow down the dark and narrow hallway, towards the library. 

Father Braginski had taken the time to acquaint Alfred to his books of magic in the purpose of him being able to harness Arthur’s powers, and for that he was particularly grateful at the moment. His fingers searched feverishly, flipping the pages of the old tome in search of the suitable binding spell. Once found, he rummaged through the bishop’s desk drawer, taking out a small box. The blue-eyed blond had a small hesitation as he opened the lid and the silver needles which had previously been in Arthur’s body came to view. At least now they would not be used to cause him that much pain, he thought, grabbing a handful and choosing to ignore their sting as his fingers closed around them.

Book in one hand and needles in the other, the American headed for the basement, his steps light but steady. Church dog they had called him, eh? He would show them all – the little stuck-up lord included – how good a hunter he was, even on his own, and maybe his reward would be Arthur’s life. It was but a faint hope, but worth pursuing for a man who had nothing to lose.  

The stone chamber was quiet, the lone torch flickering on the wall, and the lid of the coffin was shut, as expected. Alfred wasted no time in getting to the task, which proved harder than he’d initially thought – the thin needles were hard to thrust into the hard wood by the strength of his hands alone. He did it nevertheless, murmuring the spell twelve times, and by the end of it his fingertips were bleeding. It occurred to the apprentice that the smell of blood could have woken the vampire, therefore he licked off the crimson drops quickly as he stood up and left the room in a hurry.   

* * *

 

The freezing winter air plaguing the early hours of the morning bit at his face and hands as Alfred sneaked out of the parish house, making the boy wrap the cloak as tight as he could against his body.  But he ignored the protruding cold, keeping his mind full of his plans as he walked hurriedly on the path through the forest and made his way into the still sleeping town.

Panting from the march, the apprentice paused to look up at the castle, the bridge and gate illuminated by torches and the guards pacing to and fro to keep from freezing. Of course, he knew that the tunnel was his only chance and hopefully a valid one. The sky was gradually beginning to lighten up, but Alfred could not waste any more time. The monsters assumingly slept during the day and were vulnerable, but their human servants would awaken and so would Father Braginski and his men, and they were bound to notice his absence and free Arthur of his magic confinement.   

He retraced their steps from the previous day, reaching the mouth of the tunnel which lay hidden in the dense bushes, now dead and leafless. They probably would never have found it in the summer. The gaping hole revealed the pitch darkness inside and the apprentice had no source of light on him, but he figured it was better this way – light would have drawn the attention of potential guards.

Unwrapping his cloak so he would have easier access to the twin guns tucked inside his belt, next to the pouch of dirt and the sharpened stakes, the American pulled out a small knife to have at the ready in case of any surprises which would require stealth. The thought of having to fight and kill any human servants of the countess was a dismal prospect, but at this point there was no choice.    

Alfred patted the wall blindly with his free hand as he advanced into the depths of the tunnel, nearly holding his breath as he ran his fingers over the rough, slightly humid stones. There was a foul, putrid smell lingering in the stale air, growing stronger the farther away he got from the entrance – ghouls, just like they’d assumed in the beginning. Indeed, this den was a fitting place for the lowest, filthiest of Erzsebet’s servants.

There was debris on the floor of the tunnel and the boy walked carefully – despite having stumbled a couple of times – but halted suddenly when a noise came from further ahead, the distinctive sound of heavy, dragged footsteps of those who never bothered to hide. A growl erupted immediately after, the beasts had picked up his scent.

Knife put aside for now, Alfred pulled out his guns, preparing to shoot. Even if he couldn’t see anything, the tunnel was very narrow and the ghouls were most likely going to rush forward drawn by the smell of food, piling mindlessly and making themselves a clear target regardless. He would just have to wait for them to get close enough. As soon as the growls and the stench indicated that the ghouls were within range, he opened fire, seeing the beasts collapse into the crammed space in the brief flicker of the shots.

But more and more of them were coming, and when the American decided to pull back it was too late. They jumped him and the guns were lost, but somehow he still managed to pull out the knife and stab at his attackers. It was short-lived – sharp teeth bit at his thigh and he screamed, the injured leg giving way almost instantly. He lost his balance and leaned against the wall, still trying to fight but in agony, as a multitude of hands clawed at his face, shoulders and chest, seeking for his throat.

“No, stop! I want him alive… and unspoiled.” a voice resounded out of nowhere, commanding and unquestionable. A powerful blow to the back of Alfred’s head followed and everything went dark.

* * *

 

The blond came to his senses with a loud gasp, throwing a bewildered look around, shaking violently as the ice-cold water which had been thrown at his face now ran in a multitude of rivulets down his bare torso. He found himself in a basement of sorts – for there were rough stone walls all around and no windows, while several torches burned on the walls with a heavy smoke. He was still standing somehow, but his arms were shackled and held by chains from the ceiling. His head fell back momentarily as the apprentice struggled to figure out what had happened. How much time had passed? The water seeped into the gashes the whip had left on his back and Alfred was brusquely reminded of the endless hours of torture he’d suffered in this very room.

A chuckle alerted the blond that he wasn’t alone and he made an effort to lift his head and see who it was. But he should have known – it was _her_. Elizaveta peeled away from the way, the folds of her silk gown rustling slightly as she moved, a charming smile on her perfect porcelain face with eyes too bright and mouth too red. The countess walked up to where the American was chained and titled her head, pouting and running a finger down his cheek, before running her thumb over his lower lip.

“My poor boy,” she cooed, “I know it was cruel of me to treat you so, but insolence must be punished,” she added, tapping the tip of the blue-eyed boy’s nose. “And besides, I’m sure that a strong man like you can take it, right? And like I said the first time we met, I have been waiting for you, to make you all mine.”

But Alfred flinched, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to jerk away from her touch. “I-I know you will kill me… You will drink me dry after you’ve had your fun w-with me…” he murmured, only then realising how raw his throat was.

Erzsebet gasped, emerald eyes narrowing dangerously for a brief second before her expression turned to disgust. “I am aware that you met that Valah scoundrel,” she said, turning and taking a few steps away from the chained boy. ”He is beyond description, that man! Earlier tonight I found the head of my beloved Darvulia thrust in a stake on my very doorstep! Darvulia, the woman who raised me like a mother, God, I _loved_ her! How could you ever put your trust into such a barbarian, such a beast?!”

Well, the apprentice thought, at least the prince had made good on his word and the witch was dead. That was something, at least – it might have made things easier for Arthur and the others, if they were indeed coming, if they were still alive… But the thought was lost when the Hungarian’s lips brushed against his ear and her small, cool hand was pressed onto his bare chest, above his heart.

“Forget everything, Alfred. Give yourself to me, choose to be at my side and be mine and there will be no more pain, no more suffering, no more loneliness. For I _will love_ you,” the countess breathed.


	14. Chapter 14

“I-I will kill the Valah prince for you, i-if you let me…”

The words left Alfred’s chapped lips almost with a will of their own as he glanced away, to the table where his most precious possessions – the guns, the pouch of dirt and the stake – were laid out. If only his hands were free…

“The ego of a lord lies within you, if you think you can,” Erzsebet chuckled flirtatiously, but following his gaze to the objects. “Others have tried and failed.” Could it be that she was reading his mind? Perhaps, if he tried to keep his thoughts free of any clear plan, he could still fool her.

“But the thought pleases you, isn’t that why you chose me? Because you see in me the strength your man does not have?”

The countess’s smile faltered at this, her thin eyebrows almost furrowing into a scowl, but she did not deny it. Maybe the Valah prince was right and Roderich Edelstein had proven unsatisfactory in the long term. And besides, how could a woman as cruel and vile as Erzsebet be expected to know true love and devotion to someone?

“I will not speak of that,” the Hungarian said, turning away.”And besides, you may be strong as it is to my liking, but how could I know whether you would be loyal to me?” She stepped close to him again, this time looking him in the eye as she held his chin up with two fingers. “Give me one reason why I should believe you, little _church dog_.”

Alfred gulped, forcing down a shaky breath. Well… in fact, there was something he could think of. “Because everyone else has betrayed and shunned me,” he replied, quite truthfully. “You know it.” He blinked back tears, but her cold hand rose to gently wipe them off his cheek regardless.

“Oh, I know that.” The countess motioned with her head to the unseen man waiting in the back of the room. “Untie him.”

* * *

 

Her bedchamber was just as he remembered from the dream, except there was no sunlight pouring in from the windows as thick velvet drapes covered them. The light was still bright though from the multitude of candles burning around the room and Alfred stared absently at the flickering shadows dancing on the low ceiling with wooden beams. He had no idea for how long he’d been lying there in bed on his back, Erzsebet’s lips latched onto his throat. He could vaguely remember that she’d used his own stake to graze at the skin of his chest, deepening the gashes with her own nails before lapping hungrily at the fresh blood. Then she had bit her own fingers, each one at a time, making the blond kiss and suck on them in turn, the intoxicating taste of her vital fluid adding to his daze. And then she had finally sunken her fangs into his throat, moaning in pleasure as she did so.

“My consort is a noble, like you could never hope to be,” the green-eyed girl purred against his skin. “But someone like you could have their use as well… I am pleased that you ended up giving yourself to me, Alfred.”

But the apprentice was hardly paying attention to her words. Turning his head to the side, he had spotted the stake, now stained with his own blood, as well as the pouch of dirt from Gilbert Beilschmidt’s grave, abandoned on the nightstand. Gilbert Beilschmidt, the boy who had been tortured to death on the wheel because of her, he remembered as if through a thick fog. He had to… God, only if he hadn’t been so tired…

“Elizaveta! What is the meaning of this?!”

The demanding voice, rather on the shrieking side, grazed Alfred’s nerves and made him flinch, squinting as he forced his head up to see who it was. And there he was, the very man who had watched him from the painting back at the mansion, pouring infinite terror into his bones. Roderich Edelstein stood in the doorframe, brow furrowed and dark blue eyes bright with anger, his disheveled black hair falling in disarray over his pale forehead. The American’s gaze slipped from his face to the man’s pale hands, now balled into fists at his sides, finally stopping on the thin sword resting against his thigh.

“Oh, what do you mean, Roddy?” the countess replied carelessly, not even sparing him as much as a gaze, a clear indication that her ‘consort’ did not hold a position much higher than her ghouls. If she ever had harbored any love for this man, it had long faded into nothing more than a passionate whim.

The Austrian lunged forward, carried by rage, only to halt hesitantly at the foot of the bed and slam his fist into one of the bed posters, while his lips trembled in indignation. “Explain to me why _he_ still lives! Oh, I am used to your disrespect, but this is…” he paused, nearly panting, running a hand through his hair as he looked away from the bed in disgust. “Is there… do you… what purpose could you have for such a lowly creature?!”

Edelstein must have crossed the line, because Erzsebet answered somewhat angrily. Alfred’s ear only picked her tone, but not her words as his focus returned once more to the two objects left on her nightstand. Shifting inconspicuously, his left arm reached out for the pouch, but his fingertips only hooked the mouth of it and pulled awkwardly at the strap, such that it collapsed on the side and the contents spilled out, over his fingers. Startled, the apprentice looked back, but the countess had sat up to tell her lover off and his gesture had gone unnoticed. Grabbing a handful of dirt, he rubbed it in his sweaty palm and stretched some more, hoping to reach the stake.

“Come on! Come on!” the blond hissed through gritted teeth, forcing his almost numb body to strain some more. The effort made the wound on the side of his neck to sting horribly. A pained moan almost escaped him, but the American bit hard into his lip to silence it. Finally, he managed to claw at the stake and grab it, rapidly withdrawing his hand and concealing the weapon at his side.

“Can you really not see that it’s a practical matter, Roddy?” the Hungarian tried to explain, her patience wearing thin. “The Valah beast found poor Darvulia before she could find _him_ , but this boy knows where he is! Besides, he will make a very strong ghoul and with my army of ghouls and human servants I can-“

* * *

 

“Or not,” Valentin chuckled, tucking his feet under him more comfortably as he watched the scene unfolding in his mirror. Beyond the glass, Erzsebet Héderváry’s face was turning from porcelain white to a sickly grey, her lips parted in a gasp and eyes wide in surprise as she had been stabbed in the back, under her consort’s terrified gaze.  

“Bring out some wine, little brother,” the vampire asked. “These past days have been fantastic, I’ve never had so much fun in centuries!”

* * *

 

Alfred’s hand trembled, still clutching the stake as the body before him turned to a fine, grayish dust and collapsed, dirtying his trousers and the bed sheets and some of it pouring down onto the floor at the foot of the bed. He pulled back, gasping in disgust at the mess, before lifting his gaze and realizing that Roderich Edelstein was still standing there, in front of him, frozen in horror. He knew he should have moved fast, while he still had the advantage of surprise, but a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over the blond as he moved, making him fall back on the mattress helplessly. The stake fell from his limp hand and rolled down on the floor with a dull clatter.

* * *

 

The first time he’d come back to his senses, there was only darkness and a pungent scent of smoke. His eyes were blind, but he could hear voices whispering nearby, and someone laughing. And then sleep had taken him again.

But now he was awake, strength seemingly having returned to him fully after the restful sleep and Alfred was alert, if slightly wary, as he was still surrounded by darkness. Patting blindly, he realized he was laying on his back into a small box of sorts, closed on all sides, the wood feeling rough under his fingertips. The apprentice forced a deep breath – he would suffocate in here for sure if he didn’t get out! Mustering all his strength, he kicked the lid upwards, hard enough to send it flying.   

“I could have nailed some of those silver needles on the lid, you know? Just for the fun of it…”

The American sat up instantly at the sound of the familiar voice, throwing a wild glance around in the obscurity to which – to his utter surprise – his vision adapted instantly. The place he found himself him had a dismal appearance to say the least, much worse that a basement but underground nevertheless, because there were some random stones on the walls, but mostly it was just pressed dirt, numerous roots visible and hanging from it. Above there was a stone ceiling of sorts, slightly moved to the side and leaving a strip of the starry night sky visible.

“Wha-…?” The half-question lingering on his lips, Alfred turned to the dark shape crouched in a corner. “Arthur? I-Is that you?”

In reply the figure lunged at him with lightning speed and he was backhanded with such force that his jaw cracked. But oddly, despite the shock, there was barely any pain and he could almost feel the bones snap back into place. The blue-eyed blond’s hand flew to his face at this, as he uselessly struggled to comprehend what was going on.

“How could you _do this to me_?!” the vampire nearly shouted. “I was _absolutely terrified_ when I found I couldn’t get out of the coffin and I had to ask for the prince’s help _again_ to free myself of your stupid spell! Do you have any idea of the amount of fun that bastard had at my expense?! And I won’t even mention how absurd your little plan was!”

The American gulped, the sudden pestering making him slightly dizzy and doing nothing to answer his more pressing questions. Fingers digging helplessly into his forehead as he sat there, he shook his head, wishing away the horrible confusion.

“Arthur… uh… what is this place? And why was I locked up in a coffin? Was this some way to get back at me?” Alfred let out a shaky breath. “Do you… not know why I did it? It was all because I lo-“

“Jones, I put you in a coffin because you are dead,” the smaller blond said bluntly. “Roderich Edelstein ran you through with his sword, remember?”

No….No, it-…couldn’t be… He remember collapsing onto Erzsebet’s bed, sinking back into the sheets while the quagmire of poisonous sleep lured him in, and he’d been helplessly yielding, unable to fight anymore. And then a sharp sting had stabbed through his midsection, forcing a weak cry from his lungs. The last memory was feeling the last remnants of life leaving his body, before everything just… stood still. The blue-eyed boy’s hands, which had fallen limply into his lap, rose slowly and pressed tightly against his chest, fingers curling as if he wanted to claw at his own flesh. But there was no warmth in there anymore and no heartbeat. No… why? Why wasn’t he gone then? Fully dead? Why was he… like _this_?

“It could have been worse, you know,” the Englishman offered. “Erzsebet fed you a bit of her blood in the purpose of making you one of her ghouls, but you would have looked absolutely horrible and smelled even worse. Fixing that was quite the pain in the ass as well and again I had to ask that insufferable twat, so you’re more than welcome…” he added, rolling his eyes.

The apprentice shook his head rapidly, still unable to process all that he was hearing. “Then why…? If I was a ghoul, then why didn’t you just kill me, Arthur?! Why didn’t you just put me out of my misery?!”

“I just didn’t have the heart to do it, Jones.” _And as if I’d let you off the hook that easily…_

 _“_ But _…_ I’M DEAD! _”_   Alfred nearly shouted, as if this very simple notion had still to sink in. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing out ragged breaths as he helplessly hugged himself.

“Oh, ‘why are _you_ making such a fuss now? A lot of people are dead’, isn’t that what you said, Alfred F. Jones?”

“Huh? I-I don’t know about other people! But _I_ ’m dead! Do you have any idea what that means?!”

Arthur laughed, leaning over the side of the coffin to tap at the other boy’s nose. But the American didn’t share his mirth, swatting his hand away and lunging forward to grab his waist and pull him forcefully to straddle his lap. Then, without warning, he tilted his head and sunk his teeth into the smaller blond’s neck, while his arms wrapped securely around his lithe frame to prevent escape. The Englishman cursed, moaning in pain and struggling, but to no use, now Alfred was stronger than him.  

“See, that’s what it means!” he hissed, pulling back at last and gripping the green-eyed boy’s chin. “What happened? I want to know what happened!”

Arthur blinked owlishly, looking a bit apprehensive, so the other’s expression softened, grip loosening as he leaned in again, covering the previously bitten spot on the Englishman’s neck with butterfly kisses, while rubbing his back comfortingly.

“Everyone was thrown in frenzy after your absence was discovered and I was able to find out what you were up to. The tunnel was already a mess from your passing, but there were still plenty of ghouls for me to tear to shreds, you can imagine. The human servants were a pain, but we overcame them eventually… But Roderich Edelstein killed Heracles and another brother before the Father finished him off. Since I was only bound to you and you’d already been turned, I took advantage of the confusion and ran off, after snatching you from the countess’ bedroom… I brought you here to this crypt to assess the damage and have you mended and the prat of a prince laugh at me some more in the process. End of story,” the smaller blond said petulantly.

“What’s with the smoke?”

“The townspeople set the castle on fire after they found out she was dead. But it doesn’t matter, as soon as you’re fully recovered we need to leave, the prince ordered us to. As far away as it gets – to the New World!”

Alfred pulled back from the crook of the other boy’s neck and gave him a disbelieving look, his eyebrow shooting up.“To the New World? Did he really say that?”

“Well, it’s actually my idea,” Arthur confessed reluctantly. “His Highness’s phrasing was more along the lines of ‘Get the hell off my land’…” He gulped and looked away, slightly embarrassed when the American’s thumb was rubbed against his cheek.

“Arthur, you know I’ll never leave you, ever again!” the younger vampire whispered softly, before crushing their lips together. Then he lied back inside the coffin, pulling the smaller blond on top of him and slamming the lid shut.

…

“By the way Jones, I hope you realize that I can’t go back for my coffin now and this one is the cheapest model… Seriously, it doesn’t even have a bloody pillow! _You_ will have to buy me a new one!”  

**THE END.**

**AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!**


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